Invasion of the Road Weenies

by David Lubar

  “Yeah.” But before I could take a step, he got dragged down and across the concrete. His body slid over the spot where he’d written his initials, smoothing the surface out. A moment later, he got pulled under. It wasn’t like someone sinking in quicksand. It was fast. One second, he was only sunk in up to his arm. The next, he got tugged down. For an instant, there was nothing to see but his ankles and feet. The laces of his sneakers dangled, lying on the surface of the concrete.

  Then he got pulled completely under. I heard a plop. As his feet sunk down, there must have been some kind of suction. They left behind two marks like footprints.

  As I watched, the rest of the surface smoothed itself over. But the footprints stayed there. Right below them, the concrete bulged for a second. Then a bubble burst through, making a sound a lot like a burp. I waited a minute, to see if there would be anything more, but nothing else disturbed the surface. The concrete was already beginning to cure, leaving those two perfect footprints.

  So that’s how it happened. And I thought I knew everything about concrete.

  THE GREEN MAN

  We all spent a good part of the spring creeped out by the Green Man. I don’t know when the stories started, or where I first heard them, but everyone was talking about him by late May.

  “He’s not human,” Ethan said. “He’s some kind of lizard or something.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danny told Ethan. “He’s human. But he’s got wings or something.”

  “He used to be a cop, that’s what I heard.”

  “No, he was in the army. Something went wrong with an experiment.”

  “He’s not from this planet.”

  That’s how it went. Every day on the playground, there were new reports of sightings. The Green Man wasn’t actually ever seen by the person telling the story. It was always someone else. Mary heard he’d been spotted on the roof of the school by one of the teachers. She wasn’t sure which one.

  Eldridge said that the janitor had chased the Green Man out of the storage room. Or maybe it wasn’t our school—maybe it had happened across town at the high school.

  My best friend, Rob, swore his older brother knew someone who had seen the Green Man in the woods behind the town pool.

  I noticed that the Green Man wasn’t ever seen alone. He had an animal with him. Most kids said it was a collie. This was the only part of the story that wasn’t creepy. I’d never known a mean collie. They were great dogs. If the Green Man was real, I doubted he had a collie. I found it easier to believe the versions that mentioned something wild like an eagle or a wolf. I didn’t pay much attention to the really weird stuff, like Danny’s claim that the Green Man ran around with a jackal.

  Even if some of the stories were hard to swallow, I couldn’t help believing in the Green Man. And because I believed, I couldn’t help feeling twitches of fear in my gut. Nobody knew what he was capable of doing. He was a shadowy figure. But there was always a hint of danger in the sightings.

  When I walked anywhere alone, I checked over my shoulder constantly. I’d scan the rooftops and tense up as I approached each potential hiding place—a large tree, a parked car, anything that might conceal the Green Man. At night, every small sound sent me to the window. A branch scraping against the house was enough to wake me. I slept with the Green Man slithering through my mind.

  I’d always tried to face the things that scared me. When I was little, I used to be afraid of the basement. One day, I made myself climb halfway down the steps in the dark. I’d wanted to go all the way down, but halfway was as far as I could push myself. Still, I went and I sat on the steps, and nothing grabbed me and dragged me down or fell on me and drained my blood. I don’t think I’m brave—I’m just stubborn. It annoys me when something scares me. So I deal with it.

  “I’m going to find him,” I told Rob as we sat behind the school watching the younger kids playing kickball.

  “Who?”

  “The Green Man.”

  “Yeah, right.” Rob shook his head. “Get me his autograph, okay? And get one from the dog, too. I’m sure he can write.”

  “I’m serious. If there’s a real Green Man, I’m going to find him. I’m tired of hearing all these stories. Don’t you want to know if he’s real?”

  “No way. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  I listened to every story, no matter how weird, and marked each sighting on a map I’d taped to my bedroom wall.

  There was a pattern.

  The sightings swirled around a single center—the town pool. That’s where he was. If he was real, he lived near the pool. If he wasn’t real, why would there be a pattern?

  “I think I found him,” I told Rob. “I’m going to check it out this weekend.”

  “Maybe you should just tell some adults,” Rob said. “Let them take care of it.”

  “They wouldn’t listen to me.”

  There was no way Rob could argue about that. We both knew that grown-ups didn’t really pay attention to kids, and they certainly didn’t listen to them when the subject was something like the Green Man.

  I had no idea how to search for him. I didn’t know whether to sneak around or to shout for his attention. I went to the pool—it was still drained and empty, awaiting the return of summer—and stood by the fence.

  If I were the Green Man, where would I go when I wasn’t haunting rooftops?

  There were woods behind the pool. He might live in a tent or something. Maybe he didn’t need man-made shelter. Maybe he just tunneled into the ground like a giant worm or glided across the tree branches like a python.

  I strolled along the fence. At one end, there was a shed that held supplies for the pool. The door wasn’t quite closed.

  I walked over to the shed and put my hand against the edge of the door. In my mind, I saw a scene unfold. It was a daydream, I guess. Maybe it was my way of dealing with the fear. I imagined that I looked through the opening and saw a figure sitting on a box near a corner of the shed.

  Are you the Green Man? I asked him.

  No, he said. Please come in.

  I stepped inside. He stayed in the shadows. I moved closer. He raised his head and spoke. Actually, he said, extending his hand toward me, holding it right up in front of my eyes, I think this is closer to blue.

  Then I saw his face, and it was the face of a lizard. In the corner, a collie growled. Man and dog dove at me.

  I shuddered, trying to fling the image from my mind. My hand squeezed the door of the shed. I held my breath and listened.

  The raspy sound of another breath leaked from inside. The Green Man was there. I knew it.

  He must have known I was outside.

  Face my fears or run? I opened the door an inch. I opened it another inch. A new scene raced through my mind. As I stepped inside, he spread his wings and flew at me, all fangs and claws. His dog had wings, too.

  I wrestled with my thoughts for a moment, then opened the door farther. Not knowing what else to do, I called, “Hello?” The word sounded stupid as it fell from my lips. I cleared my throat and called out again.

  There was no reply, but a rustling sound drifted from the far left corner of the cluttered shed. The single window in the back wall was too dirty to let in much light. I stepped into the doorway. He was huddled against the wall, wrapped in a blanket. He hadn’t shaved in a long time. He wasn’t much older than my father, but he was thin and tired. No threat to me.

  “Sorry,” I said. That didn’t seem to be enough. I had to fill the empty space between us with words of explanation. “I was looking for the Green Man.”

  I turned to leave. As I stepped away, his words caught me. “The Green Man.” He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “I remember him. We used to be so scared—back when we were kids.”

  I looked over my shoulder. “You know about the Green Man?”

  He nodded. “Just a story. Just something kids scare each other with. Wait until you grow up. The
n you’ll find real things to be scared of.” He started coughing again.

  “Can I do anything for you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Are you sure?” I asked

  “I’m sure.”

  As I walked away, I wondered if I should tell someone about him. Maybe there were people who could help him. A few paces later, I realized I’d left the door open. The cool air would blow into the shed. I turned back to close the door. Right then, I heard a whistle from inside. It was a short, loud whistle—just one note.

  Something shot past my legs, so close I almost tumbled over it. A furry shape, running on four paws, dove through the doorway into the shed.

  For a heartbeat, I froze, trying to catch my balance. Then I flung open the door. I got there just in time to see them leaving by the window. The dog—if that’s what it was—had already escaped out the back. The man—if that’s what he was—still straddled the sill. The blanket lay discarded on the floor. Green tattoos covered his arms. Even his face, in the light of the window, had a greenish cast to it.

  Somehow, I spoke. “You’re him, aren’t you?”

  He looked back at me. “It doesn’t really matter who I am,” he said, his voice no longer feeble and tired. “You make your own fears. That’s how it works.” He slipped outside and ran off, following the beast.

  I watched the Green Man fade into the woods. I had a funny feeling he’d go somewhere else now. Or maybe there were many Green Men. Maybe each town had one. I really didn’t understand what had happened—at least, not all of it. But I figured he was there to give us a fear we could deal with, since so much of what we faced each day was out of our control. Or maybe he was there because our fears had made him real.

  But as I watched him vanish into the distance, I realized that I was no longer afraid of the Green Man. In a way, that knowledge made me sad. I’d lost something. In a way, it also worried me. I wondered what would show up to take his place.

  DIZZY SPELLS

  Faster!” Monty screamed. He leaned out as far as he could, gripping the metal pipe with one hand, squeezing so hard that his fingers grew numb. He thrust his other hand out and let the wind smash against his face and rip at his hair. “Faster!”

  Carl grunted as he managed one last burst of speed. Monty felt the merry-go-round respond to the push. Then it slowed as Carl stopped pushing and jumped aboard.

  Monty closed his eyes and let the motion carry him.

  “Oh boy,” Monty said as he stepped off the ride once it had slowed to a stop. He staggered a bit. The world was still spinning inside his head. “That was great. Want to go again?”

  “I’ve had enough,” Carl said. “If I get any dizzier, I think I’ll puke.”

  “I wish you hadn’t said that,” Monty told him. His stomach had felt fine until then.

  “Said what?” Carl asked.

  “You know—you said you’d puke.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Carl said.

  “Yes, you did,” Monty insisted. “You just said it right now.”

  “Did not.”

  Monty sighed. There was no point in arguing. He forgot about it quickly enough. Until the next week, when the thing with the baseball bat happened.

  They’d seen it on television. Put a bat on the ground with the handle sticking up. Put your forehead on the bat and run around in a circle five times. Then pick up the bat and try to hit a ball.

  Monty watched as Carl went first. Carl turned in a tight circle. Then he straightened up and tossed the ball. He almost fell over when he swung at it. He tried again and missed. By then, he was laughing so hard he didn’t have any chance of hitting it.

  “My turn,” Monty said, grabbing the bat. He leaned over and put his forehead against the handle, then started going in a circle.

  When he stood up, the whole world was spinning. Monty could barely stay on his feet. He’d never been so dizzy before. He tossed the ball, swung, and missed. He leaned over and tried to pick up the ball, but he fell to his knees. Finally, he managed to get back up. “I wish I could hit it right over the fence,” he said.

  Monty tossed the ball. He swung hard and whacked it right over the fence.

  “Holy cow,” Carl said.

  “Wow . . .” Monty, still dizzy, watched the ball drop over the fence at the edge of the playground.

  That’s when he knew.

  All he had to do was get dizzy, and his wishes would come true.

  “I wish I had a million dollars,” he said.

  Nothing happened.

  Monty realized he wasn’t very dizzy. He put the bat down and started spinning again.

  “Hey,” Carl said. “It’s my turn.”

  Monty ignored Carl and kept spinning around the bat. Finally, he stopped and said, “I wish I had every video game in the world.”

  His wish didn’t come true.

  “What’s going on?” Carl asked.

  Monty explained. When he was finished, he realized what the problem was. “I bet I have to get dizzier each time. Otherwise it doesn’t work.”

  “Hey, let’s spin you on the swings. That’ll do it.”

  “Great idea,” Monty said. He ran to the swings and sat down. Carl grabbed the chains on either side of the swing and started twisting them around, winding Monty tighter and tighter.

  “Ready?” he asked when the chains were as tight as they could be.

  “Ready,” Monty said.

  Carl let go. Monty started to unwind. The swing went faster and faster until Monty felt that the whole world was a blur. When it unwound and started to wrap the other way, Monty jumped off. He was so dizzy, he could barely think. He was sure he was dizzier than before. He wondered whether he had to make the wish before the dizziness wore off.

  “I wish I had a horse,” he said.

  “Are you crazy?” Carl asked. “What did you wish that for?”

  “I couldn’t think of anything else,” Monty said. “I was—”

  He stopped at the sound of a whinny. Right behind Carl, there stood a very big horse. “Oh, great. What am I going to do with a horse,” Monty said. He took a step toward the horse. It let out another whinny and ran off.

  “What a waste,” Carl said. “You could have gotten something good. Come on. Let’s try it again.”

  “Okay.” Monty sat on the swing, but he had his doubts. They tried and tried until Monty couldn’t stand it anymore. But none of the wishes came true.

  “I need to get dizzier,” he said. He looked at Carl and Carl looked back. Monty knew the answer. He could tell that Carl did, too.

  “The Spinulator!” Carl said, naming the most awesome, brain-scrambling, twisting, turning, spinning ride on the planet.

  “Let’s go.” Monty went home and broke into his savings bank. It didn’t matter how much he spent. When he got off the Spinulator, he was going to wish for a million dollars.

  They caught the bus to the next town, then walked to the entrance to Action World. The two admissions took almost all Monty’s money. He didn’t mind.

  “Here goes,” he said when he and Carl were strapped into the ride.

  It was wild. Half the time, Monty couldn’t even tell whether he was right side up or upside down. He was whipped and spun and twisted and tossed like pizza dough.

  Finally, the ride stopped. Monty staggered off, so dizzy he thought his eyes would bounce out of his head.

  What was it he was going to ask for? He tried to think. His brain was sloshing inside his head like a bowl of soup. If only he could think clearly for a moment. “I wish the world would stop spinning,” he said.

  “No!” Carl shouted as the wish escaped from Monty’s lips. “Take it back.”

  Too late. The world stopped spinning.

  Unfortunately, everything on it kept moving.

  As Monty hurtled through the air, he remembered another wish he’d had when he was little. He’d wished he could fly.

  Screaming and tumbling, but not tumbling enough to become very dizzy, Monty
finally got that wish, too.

  THE TANK

  Jeremy didn’t make it a habit to stare into toilets. But he couldn’t help noticing when the calm surface of the water in the bowl suddenly rippled. He was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, and his eyes just happened to settle on the toilet at the right moment. He watched the water grow calm. A moment later, another ripple spread from the center of the bowl.

  Strange, Jeremy thought as he turned away from the toilet and finished brushing his teeth. He looked back at the water when he was done, but it remained flat and motionless.

  That night, as he was lying in bed, Jeremy heard a hollow boom, like someone had hit a gigantic empty oil drum with the side of a clenched fist. The boom seemed far off, and only happened once. Could be anything, Jeremy thought. It’s not important.

  He fell asleep soon after, and slept well. In the morning, when he went to the bathroom, he noticed that the water in the toilet was rocking and settling down, as if it had just splashed up a moment earlier.

  That night, when he got in the tub, he could feel something pulsing through the water, beating against the drainpipe. He finished washing as quickly as he could and stepped out.

  He heard the boom several times that night. Vaguely, he remembered his parents discussing the drainpipes in the house. There was something different about them. In the morning, Jeremy asked his mom, “Where does the water go when we flush?”

  “The septic tank,” his mom said.

  “Not the sewer?” Jeremy asked.

  His mom shook her head. “We don’t have sewers here. The houses are too far apart. Everything goes into a big tank. Then it decomposes, and the water filters out into the ground. There’s a special bacteria in there that breaks stuff down.”

  Jeremy was listening to her, but in the background, far away, he heard the boom again. No, he realized, it wasn’t far away. It was up close, but buried underground. That’s why it seemed distant.

  It was right next to the house.

  Jeremy wondered what form of life could possible grow in there—grow large enough to pound with such force. He shuddered as his mind ran through a dozen dark and slimy images. The most awful of them was the most familiar—something shaped just like him. Manlike, but far from human.