Snapdragon Book I: My Enemy

by Brandon Berntson

  Gavin had been pleasantly vocal throughout the day. Mrs. Dunbar had called his name several times, reprimanding him for talking out of turn. Now the boy was anything but querulous. Seth frowned, watching Gavin walk up Columbus, his stride noticeably slower.

  “Bye Gavin,” Eddie called.

  “Bye,” Seth repeated, wishing he’d asked Gavin to walk with them.

  Eddie and Seth looked at one another.

  “Did you notice that?” Eddie asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Seth said.

  “I wonder what his problem is.”

  Seth shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want to go home or something.”

  Eddie continued to watch Gavin. “He seems…scared almost. Maybe I won’t make fun of Spawn so much anymore.”

  They watched Gavin for a minute or two, then continued down the street.

  “So, you and Malcolm are friends?” Seth asked, trying to change the subject.

  “We trade comics and stuff,” Eddie said. “People say his grandpa is this mean old guy who never lets him do anything.” Eddie laughed. “But that’s not what Malcolm says. Malcolm says he’s kind of an…invalid. And you can tell it isn’t true. You can smell it all over the house.”

  Seth listened intently. “Smell it?”

  Eddie nodded. “Wine. That’s all his grandpa does. Drink. Malcolm pretty much has the place to himself.”

  “Huh,” Seth said, not knowing what else to say.

  “The house is spooky, though,” Eddie said.

  Seth raised his eyebrows. “Spooky?”

  “Yeah, it’s huge. And no one takes care of it. It looks haunted. It’s all run down. Weeds growing everywhere. The windows are dirty. And you never hear anything. It’s just…quiet. Like a grave.”

  Malcolm, Seth realized, was an interesting topic of conversation.

  “He seems older than he is,” Seth said.

  “That’s because of his parents,” Eddie said.

  “His parents?”

  “His parents were killed in a car accident a few years ago. That’s why he lives with his grandpa.”

  Seth’s blood turned cold. “Jeez,” he said. His friends were growing more interesting by the minute.

  “So, you think you’re gonna like school?” Eddie asked.

  “As much as I can, I guess,” Seth told him. Eddie had taken a particular liking to him, and he supposed he took a particular liking to Eddie as well.

  “Just keep me alert in math, if you can,” Seth told him.

  Eddie chuckled. “No sweat.”

  They continued walking until they came to Eddie’s house on the corner of Elm Street, a two story, slate-blue clapboard with an immaculate yard, and a white picket fence.

  “Well, this is my house,” Eddie said, stopping at the gate. He pressed the latch and pushed it open. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

  Seth said goodbye and walked the rest of the way up the road. He still had to walk through the neighborhoods, then west along Montgomery Avenue, but he enjoyed the time alone after the events of the day. Talking to Eddie gave Seth a lot to think about. His thoughts returned to Kinsey MacKay again, the handful of friends he suddenly had: Malcolm riding off toward a silent, haunted house; Gavin and his reticence up Columbus Avenue; Howard driving away in a fancy car with a young blonde girl, probably his older sister.

  You have enough.

  Enough what? Friends? Imagination? He still wondered what that meant.

  It was strange. After an entire summer alone (except for Jeanie Masterson), he’d managed to acquire more friends than he’d thought possible. Was it too soon to call them friends? He liked Eddie and Malcolm, though. Howard was quiet and shy. Seth felt intimidated, even frightened by Gavin Lolly. When the boy began his trek up Columbus, Seth thought he was looking at a different kid altogether.

  You face your battles, like little soldiers, Ben said. Not all of you have true swords and shields of faith and hope. But you have other things. Believe in your power. It will get you through. This is what turns boys like you into warriors and men.

  Had Ben always been here, waiting for the right moment to introduce himself? Maybe Ben’s enemy had always been here, too. The mountains, for as long as he could remember, seemed magical and eerie in their own right, holding keys to worlds he’d never thought possible.

  Until now.

  A new thought occurred to him: how did he know others hadn’t witnessed this monster, too?

  Because they’d be dead, a voice said.

  You’re lucky. You have what many do not.

  Turning up Montgomery Avenue, the neighborhood was strangely quiet and still. The bustle and shouts of school were far behind him now. A breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of the trees.

  No one was outside. Not a single dog barked—a bird perched on a single branch.

  A cloud covered the sun, bringing shade, and a slight drop in temperature.

  What would you do if he showed up now, he thought? He wasn’t thinking about Ben, of course, but the phantom on horseback. He could be anywhere. Anywhere at all, and what would you do? What could you do? He might be up the next street. Maybe he’s blocking the road to your house.

  Despite the light of day, he was suddenly afraid. His aloneness made him cold with fear. He imagined the horse coming from nowhere, around the corner, the street up ahead.

  A slow clip-clop sounded behind him. Seth turned, but the street was empty.

  Get yourself together.

  The monster wasn’t the only thing he’d face. He’d war against his own mind, his imagination…

  Or maybe it will be the thing to save you.

  Seth scanned the neighborhood, not trusting his senses. The streets revealed nothing but silence and inactivity.

  How do you know nothing is there? Can you see? Your eyes aren’t telling you the truth all the time, Seth. Don’t be so deceived. He could be right there in front of you, and you’d never know. You could die—and you’d never even know—

  “Ben?” he said.

  What had Sadie McCall really seen?

  Could the demon, the dark, obscure stranger, be somewhere nearby, putting thoughts into his brain?

  “Ben?” he said, again. But there was no reply, only the wind.

  Home suddenly seemed miles away, the safety of his bedroom…

  Not caring how he looked, Seth Auburn picked up his pace and started running home.

  iv

  Near the end of the block, Gavin Lolly’s house came into view. He imagined it as some kind of sleeping beast, a monster waiting for him to come home: the porch with its massive paws curled under its enormous belly. His mother’s bedroom window to the right was a closed eye. Under the same window, a large, snapping jaw waited to gobble him up.

  The house reminded him of something from a murky swamp. Was he imagining it, or were tentacles emanating from the front door?

  Painted forest green, it had faded over time. Tall, weeping willows overhung the roof and the front porch. Dragonflies hovered above long, neglected grass. A bumblebee zoomed close to Gavin’s face, snaking its way through the air, and disappeared.

  Should he walk through the front door or sneak around the back?

  His heart leapt into his throat, thumping loudly between his ears. He’d prepared himself for this moment countless times in the past, but he never got used to it. He’d missed weeks of school because of her. She’d called the secretary more than once, telling them he was ill.

  Yes, Gavin thought. Ill.

  He’d come close to repeating the fourth grade, too, but managed to excel near the end of the semester. He wanted a good start to this year, so he could avoid the same.

  He had his room in the basement, his sanctuary, the only place he felt safe. Gavin realized it had been Sadie McCall screaming the night he’d been watching Sorority House Slaughter.

  Ellishome harbored more ghouls than Gavin realized. One lived under the very same roof that he did.

  He was ashamed an
d hated himself because of it, reluctant to make friends, but couldn’t help himself. He tried too hard, but didn’t want anyone to know where he lived, what went on behind these windows and doors.

  But he didn’t want to be alone anymore, either.

  Salvation lay in the faces of pretty girls. If he could show charisma, they’d overlook his wan appearance. Even the friends he thought he’d made today wanted nothing to do with him.

  Fantasies filled Gavin’s dreams at night, which was strange for a boy who longed to create the greatest cinematic horror the world had ever seen. Instead, he was transported to a dream-like paradise nowhere on earth. Thousands of colors surrounded him. He stood on a mountaintop, overlooking a vast, green valley floor. Ominous peaks stretched along the horizon, and at the base of the crags, a white marble palace sat like some celestial portal, the likes of which could only belong to Heaven. Even the sun had a healing quality to it.

  He had a gaunt and withdrawn look, he knew. His left eye was lazy, his skin an unnatural pallor of white because of all the time he spent in the basement. He hated the clothes he had to wear, too. He was amazed she bought anything for him at all, though she never took him shopping. He’d found a sack from Wal-Mart filled with two T-shirts and a pair of jeans on his bed several days ago. She must’ve been feeling generous, or maybe she was just having one of her happier, drunken moments.

  He had to wash the clothes himself, though. Her rare, strange affection left him feeling awkward and troubled. No matter how terrible she treated him, she was still capable of being a loving mother. The transition frightened him.

  Maybe she’s just plain evil, Gavin thought.

  He didn’t know anything about the washing machine at first. He’d mistaken bleach for soap. His clothes came out looking different then when they went in, and of course he had no choice but to wear them. She’d bruised his neck when she saw what he’d done.

  He must’ve done something to make God angry. Sometimes, Gavin felt he had to apologize for simply breathing. If he could go back, and never be born, he would do so. Was there any mercy? None that he could find, at least so far. Better to wait for God to show Himself, to prove His existence.

  He was attracted to everything his mother was not, preferring girls with black or red hair, instead of blonde, girls who didn’t curse, or speak crudely. He did not prefer girls who smoke or drank, or rasped when they talked. He liked a sense of wholeness and purity.

  Despite his belief (or lack thereof), Gavin did have hope. Maybe that—in and of itself—was a form of God. He was cynical at his young age, yet a thread of hope remained. Despite his appearance, he was a cosmic child. He believed in magic. No matter how twisted his perceptions were, it was possible to hold light in the palm of his hand. Despite the atrocities he viewed every night on The Big Chill Theater, he recognized beauty for beauty’s sake. Justice would be served one day, whether God delivered it or somebody else. Life could not stay this way forever, could it? If it did, wouldn’t that only prove the absence of God?

  She’d kill him eventually, he knew, and he wondered if he’d ever get the chance to turn the tables.

  Gavin loved horror because it was weak, tepid compared to life. Fictional horror was nothing. The pretend world of blood-soaked images could be frightening, but the life he lived was quite real. There was nothing make-believe about his mother.

  She reminded him of Baby Jane, the way she dressed, the wrinkled, aging, smoker’s face, like a demented clown. She spent hours in the bathroom, recreating herself. She must succeed to some extent; otherwise, men wouldn’t follow her home. The men were like clockwork. It made Gavin ill.

  Yes, he thought. Ill.

  Gavin told her once, bravely, even with the make-up, that she looked like a ghoul, and in return, she’d backhanded him, a lightning blast of pain, sending him spinning to the floor. She did other things as well. He could endure the physical punishment, but the belt bothered him most of all. The belt his ‘father’ used to own, the one with the large, silver buckle on the end.

  Pick that up. Clean this house. Scrub that toilet, she always demanded.

  She wanted to abuse him, to break him inside, make him weep in torment. Defeat him in every sense of the word.

  Once, she’d told him to clean the blood out of the shower. Gavin had no idea how it had gotten there, and he didn’t ask. He clamped his mouth shut, held his breath, and scoured the stain with a brillo-pad.

  He dreamed his mother would go away into a dark place and never return.

  Something, he prayed. Anything…

  “I just want to have a life,” he said, the house looming larger with every step he took. He was almost there now. “I want to do what other kids do. I want to feel what kids feel.”

  It wasn’t his mother who abused him, he told himself. It was a demon living inside her. At times, Gavin Lolly even tried loving her, but she made it impossible.

  Something makes her do the things she does. It’s not her. There’s a demon in there running the show.

  He made justifications. When she nursed her hangovers, he rifled secretively through her purse for money, so he could eat. She wouldn’t miss it, of course. She probably didn’t know how much she had.

  Gavin stepped onto the broken sidewalk. Grass sprouted long and wild between the broken slabs. The house seemed to ooze poison, retreating from the rest of the world. Was her bedroom window opening, a lidless crack? She was home because the little brown Datsun was in the driveway

  The heel of his shoe snapped against the ground. He stepped up the porch and stopped at the front door. His palms were sweating. His heart raced. Was he really this terrified of walking into his own home? Why hadn’t he just run away?

  Hope, he thought.

  He closed his eyes, leaning his ear to the door, listening for movement within, the tread of her feet across the carpet, a smoker’s cough.

  Gavin’s fingers curled around the knob.

  She could outwit Dracula, demoralize Frankenstein. Werewolves would turn, running scared.

  The wind gusted, pushing him closer to the door.

  Had the other kids in school been thinking about Sadie McCall? No one had mentioned him, and Gavin had kept his secret (the night of Sadie’s death) to himself.

  How long had he been standing here now?

  Gavin twisted the knob and pushed it open. Darkness seemed to ooze out into the day. The thick odor of cigarettes, a haze of alcohol hit him squarely in the face. Something else hovered under the air. Vomit, sloppy sex?

  The beast had had a busy night. The beast had…prowled.

  I must have done something terrible to God to deserve this.

  Monsters smiled from the murky gloom, claws emerging around the back of the sofa, red eyes peering over the cushions.

  Gavin stepped inside, holding his breath. He closed the door quietly behind him, the lock making an unnervingly loud click! He squeezed his eyes shut, praying his mother hadn’t heard.

  You deserve it. You’ve brought this on yourself.

  Was that his voice, or someone else’s?

  Everything seemed stained, contaminated by a noxious gas. The house smelled worse than death.

  He took a step toward the kitchen, the stairs leading to the basement and his bedroom.

  If he saw her…

  Gavin made his way around the couch and through the dining room, walking as quietly as he could. He looked behind him and down the hallway. Nothing there. No sign of her. He took a deep breath, turning back to the kitchen and ran right into her.

  He stumbled backwards but managed to stay on his feet.

  She wore a long gray T-shirt, clearly not her own. Someone else was in the house, or they’d left it behind. A cigarette dangled from her left hand. Her hair was straight, black, silver and stringy, eyes puffy, bloodshot punching bags from a long night out. She wasn’t much taller than Gavin. If he’d gone to the back door, he might’ve had a chance…

  This is what death looks like, he thought. This
is death coming after me. This is the monster that is death, and it looks just like my mother.

  Gavin closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

  No. Not death.

  This was worse.

  He should’ve predicted her being in the kitchen. He knew what was coming now, no matter what he did. His pleas wouldn’t help him.

  Gavin opened his eyes and prepared for the worst.

  Was that a skull staring back at him, sunken pits for lifeless eyes? Deep, sadistic chuckling filled the space between his ears. Just as quickly, the vision, the sound of laughter, faded. It was only his mother, but it was more than enough.

  Welcome to the nightmare.

  Death had had a go at her, roughed her up a bit. Gavin could barely look at her. He was thankful for the burning cigarette, masking the stench emanating from her diseased-ridden body.

  Do men put their lips on that? How can they stand within ten feet of it? Why would they want it in their field of vision?

  “Hi, Mom,” he said.

  For a long time, she simply stood there, staring at him, eyes a burning, solid black. She raised her hand and took a drag of the cigarette, blowing smoke into his face. Gavin closed his eyes and coughed.

  She was plotting, he knew, thinking of a reason to maul him.

  “How long does it take you to get home from school?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse, dull, like a rusty blade. Brows angled toward a witch-like nose. He’d been trying to make it across the living room and down the basement steps was all. Couldn’t she see he was trying to avoid these confrontations?

  See how well you taught me, Mommy?

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Twenty minutes.”

  “What time is it now?” She took another drag, blowing smoke into his face again.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s almost four o’clock. Doesn’t school get out at three?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then why did it take you so long to get home?” she asked. “Was there a train crossing the road? Did you have to crawl over the school bus? Did it run you over?”