The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight (The Broom Closet Stories)

by Jeff Jacobson

  Had there really been a break-in at the Mossmans, or did Malcolm just make that up to get Beverly out of the house? So he and the other witches could kidnap Charlie?

  “I mean, we all do the best we can with what we’ve been given,” Malcolm had said. What did that mean? That this was the best he could do? Letting Dog Man and Scissors Lady into the bedroom so they could steal Charlie away in the middle of the night?

  His hard-won calm vanished as frustration and anger built inside of him at the thought of Malcolm turning against the community.

  Red with rage, he kicked at the floor, and then regretted it as waves of pain and nausea crashed over him. His nostrils sucked at the air in desperation, panic trying to take over again.

  Charlie, knock it off. Get a hold of yourself.

  An image of Rita Lostich swam before his eyes. He thought about how she encouraged him, how she’d wink at him when he’d mastered something new. He thought of how Beverly reminded him to breathe when he was about to try some new form of witchcraft. How Randall’s eyes danced when he joked with him.

  Diego. He thought of how Diego smiled after they kissed. Charlie felt warmth fill his chest.

  These were good thoughts. They didn’t necessarily tell him what to do, but he could see each person, almost as if they all stood in front of him, supporting him, loving him, wanting things to go well for him.

  ‘I want to see them again. I don’t want to die here.’

  The strength of this realization ran through his veins, emboldening him.

  ‘I am not going to die. I will see these people again. Neither Malcolm nor Grace will take these people away from me.’

  He wasn’t sure if it was true, but the courage these thoughts brought him was much better than the panic that sat almost like a bird perched on his shoulder, ready to peck at his eyes and his head.

  He needed a plan. If he could somehow free his hands, he could remove the tape binding his mouth shut.

  He pulled at the tape around his wrists, doing his best to keep his head still. Nothing happened. No wiggle room whatsoever. Then he tried his feet. The same results for the tape around his ankles. Maybe it was bewitched tape. All he knew was that he couldn’t get it to budge.

  He tried to move his mouth, to find a way to get the tape away from his lips. But it only made it bind more tightly. And, it made him breathe harder, which caused him to break out into a cold sweat, inviting the bird on his shoulder to start pecking, pecking…

  ‘Come on!’ Charlie told himself. ‘You’ve got to do something.’

  He ran through the things he’d learned in combat training with Rita and Jacob. They’d taught him how to use weapons, how to call up spells that would protect or attack. Even ways to cloak himself, which could come in handy if he had to sneak around somewhere.”

  But they hadn’t taught him what to do if he found himself tied up in a dark room, nor had they said anything about his mouth being bound. Knowing that the Words were crucial for most forms of witchcraft, wasn’t this a gross oversight? Maybe they figured that if you found yourself unable to move your mouth, you were, as he’d heard Randall once put it, “Up shit creek without a paddle.” (“But don’t tell your aunt I told you that,” he could hear his uncle saying.)

  What could he do to get out of here?

  Any way he looked at it, he couldn’t come up with a single idea that might work.

  “Ung!” He tried to scream in frustration, but the tape muffled it, turning it into a feeble grunt.

  Just then, he heard a clicking sound.

  A doorway opened nearby. Thin gray light spilled into the room where he lay on the floor, which now looked to be about the size of a small bedroom. A figure stood in the doorway. It remained motionless for several long moments.

  As Charlie’s eyes adjusted to the pale light, he began to see more clearly. A pair of hands emerged from the center of the person’s body, lit by a small orange glow that was cupped between them. As the light became brighter, he saw the arms, upper body and chin of a man, then hips, legs, shoes, and finally, a face.

  It was Dog Man staring down at him. The same blond hair, the same conceited smirk.

  “You awake?” the man asked.

  Charlie didn’t move. For one thing, he couldn’t talk at all. And for another thing, Dog Man could go to hell.

  “What’s wrong, kid? Cat got your tongue?” he laughed.

  ‘What was it with these people,’ Charlie wondered. ‘Did they always say such corny stuff?’

  Dog Man walked over to him and set the warm orange glow on the floor about two feet from Charlie’s face. Then he kicked it, and the ball exploded into tiny fragments of light that surrounded Charlie, covering him in a gentle orange luster. It felt like warm air blowing over his skin.

  Charlie’s arms relaxed, his shoulders stopped hurting, and the pain in his head simply seeped away like water down a drain.

  “That should feel better,” Dog Man said.

  He bent down and began to pry the tape away from around Charlie’s ankles. Charlie watched as the light near his feet changed from orange to pale blue. He found that even though his feet were free from the tape, they wouldn’t budge.

  Next, Dog Man removed the tape at Charlie’s hands, and once again the light changed from orange to blue. His hands were freed, but they stayed put, unable to receive the signals from his brain to move.

  The orange light must have some sort of pain-relieving property, while the blue light acted as a binding spell. That would mean that if Dog Man were going to remove the tape from Charlie’s mouth, there might be a small window of opportunity before the glow surrounding his head changed color and bound him.

  Charlie summoned the Words, letting the power build near his face, behind his head, so that when Dog Man yanked the tape off of his lips, Charlie’s mouth moved fast.

  Two things happened at the same time.

  The first was that the force of his Words flung Dog Man through the doorway. Charlie watched with satisfaction as his mouth formed a perfectly shocked “O” shape as he flew backwards. Just before he fell to the ground, however, he extended his arms and righted himself, landing squarely on his feet and shaking his head, making a tsk-tsk sound.

  The second was that the orange light surrounding Charlie’s head changed to blue. He found his mouth trapped shut, rendered useless.

  “Check out the badass new witchling!” Dog Man taunted as he walked to where Charlie lay in the blue pool of light. “A mere month ago you were clinging to your mama’s apron strings, crying as I beat on her. Now you’re using big-boy Words and being on the offensive. Aren’t you the tough guy?”

  He stopped a few inches from Charlie’s stomach. He bent his knee and drew one of his feet back, preparing to kick. The binding blue light made the steel-toed point of his boot shine like a silver star. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to feel the sharp impact of the boot in his gut.

  Nothing happened.

  He opened his eyes and looked up at Dog Man.

  “You know,” said the man, standing now with both feet planted on the ground. “I oughta just kick the crap outta you, little boy. You deserve it. Making all of our lives hell around here. If you had just come back with me when I found you in your little house in Clarkston, it would not have come to this.” He gestured, his arms spread wide.

  Charlie didn’t know what “this” meant. Was he referring to the fact that Charlie was lying on his side, bound by a blue light? Or that they were in a dark room somewhere, most likely in the bowels of some basement? Or did he mean the attacks that he and Grace and the others had been waging?

  It didn’t matter. The way Dog Man spoke, Charlie could tell he wasn’t expecting an answer. He figured that if the man kept talking, he might learn more about where he was and how to escape.

  Dog Man bent over and put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Electric currents ran from his head to his toes as his entire body rose from the floor, face up, until he was level with the man’s hip
s, stiff as a magician’s assistant.

  Dog Man turned and walked down the hallway. Charlie floated along beside him.

  “We gotta figure out what makes you tick, kid,” he said as he looked down at Charlie’s face. “I mean, really. It took us three attempts to finally get you. What the hell? Doesn’t make sense.”

  He heard another door opening. Bright overhead light forced him to squeeze his eyes shut.

  “Put him over there,” a woman’s voice said.

  Charlie felt hands on his body as he was pushed down onto a chair. Although the blue light kept him from moving, the hands forced his body to mold to the contours of the chair so that he ended up more or less in a sitting position, with his arms plastered to his sides and his feet stuck to the floor.

  Charlie could make out the shapes of several people walking around the room. His nose was assaulted with the overwhelming stink of unwashed bodies. The blue light still floated around him.

  “Dude!” Charlie heard someone say. He could see more clearly now, and watched as a slim man did an exaggerated moonwalk over to his chair, spun around, then started break dancing in front of him.

  “Welcome to the dollhouse, Chuck!” the man said. He stuck his face right up against Charlie’s. Charlie recognized him as the man who broke into his bedroom with Scissors Lady those several weeks ago, the one who fought with Beverly.

  Charlie could smell mint gum. The man’s teeth were extremely white, and dark stubble covered his cheeks and jawline. He thought he could see madness behind the spark of playfulness in the man’s eyes.

  “Tony Ambrosio at your service, little fellah!” the man said. “And this is Claudia,” he bowed, and with a flourish indicated the beautiful black woman who’d held the scissors. “I know we’ve met, but I thought a more formal introduction would be groovy. You are utterly psychological!” He grabbed Charlie’s cheeks and shook his head back and forth. “Ooh, I could just eat you right now!”

  While the pain in Charlie’s head had lessened from what it had been a few moments ago, the shaking motion nearly crippled him. He feared he would pass out again. The idea of losing consciousness in the hands of this crazy man terrified him. He bit the insides of his cheeks to remain awake.

  “Don’t mind him,” Scissors Lady/Claudia said as she came in to view. “He’s just plain nuts.”

  “I am too,” Tony said, spinning in place then dropping to the floor in the splits before popping back to his feet and walking away.

  “You, mister,” Claudia said, shaking her finger at Charlie. “You sure are a tricky one, aren’t you?” Her voice was teasing and soft. Charlie tried not to shake as she bent down and looked into his eyes. She brought her hand closer to him. Her fingernails were painted a bright pink, and there were flowery decals in the corner of each one. She extended her pointer finger. The nail began to grow, sharpening at the point. He felt it poke into the side of his face.

  “Meow,” she said, and then ran her finger down his cheek. The point of the nail caught at his skin and tore into it.

  The blue glow held his head in place. He could feel the flow of blood trickle down his cheek. It should have hurt, but either the pain in his head overshadowed the gash she was making, or he was too numb to care.

  “I cut you,” she said, fluttering her eyes, “just like I said I would.” Her fingernail shrank back, returning to normal size. She smiled, then stood back and looked at him, arms folded, admiring her work for a few more moments before she walked away.

  Charlie looked around the room. It was brightly lit where he sat, but the light didn’t cover the rest of the area. He tried to see across the room, but couldn’t make anything out. The smell of dirty bodies permeated everything. He hadn’t noticed any stench coming from Dog Man, Tony, or Scissors Lady, so he assumed there were others in the basement too.

  “Okay people,” said a familiar voice. Charlie looked to his right and saw Grace walk through the doorway, followed by Malcolm, who kept his eyes locked on the back of Grace’s head. Fear swept over him like a cold wind. Grace stopped to survey the room, nodding her head. “This is good. This is very good. Well done.”

  Chapter 77

  Grace walked over to where Charlie sat.

  “You knew it was inevitable that we would have some time together, didn’t you? And since you wouldn’t come here of your own volition, well…” She looked over her shoulder to where Malcolm stood with his hands behind his back, staring at Grace as if waiting for her to give him instructions.

  “Hey people, come on now. I don’t see the need for bondage. Really. I’m sure Charlie will mind his manners.” She flicked her fingers in his direction. The blue light surrounding him vanished.

  His limbs had fallen asleep, but now he was able to move his mouth. He let the Words gather behind him, let them find his lips and move them.

  A wooden chair near Charlie’s feet leaped into the air and darted toward Grace’s head.

  “Oh dear,” she said, bending at her knees and holding her hands up to the side of her face in mock fear. The chair stopped inches from her head. “What can I do against a little witch as powerful as you, Charlie?”

  She moved her arms and the chair flew against the wall, exploding in a cloud of wood and dust.

  Rita and Jacob had taught him that once you decided to attack, you committed yourself. This meant that he had already moved his attention to the next spell, his lips moving fast. Objects began to fly around the room.

  Grace looked at Charlie, her smile fading as her eyes narrowed.

  Quicker than thought, she stood before him in a blur of peach and ginger. “Really, Charlie? You don’t get it, do you? How much trouble you’re in?”

  She struck him across the face with the back of her hand. His chair tipped backwards and his skull cracked against the wall behind him. His hands flew to his head as more pain seared his face and forehead.

  “Tell him, Malcolm!” Grace hissed.

  “Do what she says, kid,” Malcolm said, his eyes wide, his voice flat. “If you do, everything will be all right.”

  “That didn’t sound very convincing,” Charlie said, hearing his voice as if it were a million miles away. He’d never experienced pain like this before, so sharp and all-encompassing, like it was a real person standing over him, punching and kicking his head and gut, his neck, without stop. He didn’t know how he’d managed to talk.

  “What is it with you people?” Grace screamed. “I am helping you all, and yet you try to thwart me at every step. What a bunch of ingrates!”

  She backed away from him, and with a flick of her fingers his chair righted itself, sweeping him upwards into a sitting position. At the same time, overhead lights came on, illuminating everything.

  The room was about the size of a double-car garage. More than twenty chairs lined the walls opposite him and to his right. In each chair sat a kid, ranging in age from about ten years old to eighteen or nineteen. All of them sat perfectly still except for their quick, shallow breathing. Their eyes were open and dull, lips parted, skin pallid and yellowish. All had gray circles beneath their eyes, though some were much darker than others. He recognized a girl from the framed photograph during the witches’ meeting in the basement on Washington Street. In the picture, her hair had been bright red and frizzy; now it hung in greasy, mud-colored tendrils along the sides of her face. Suzette Nickerson. Charlie thought about Mrs. Nickerson wringing her hands during the meeting, while her husband stood still, looking dazed and lost.

  “Oh my God,” Charlie moaned, the last word rising nearly an octave in dread. The shock of what he saw seemed to diminish the pain in his head, or at least move it a foot or two away from him. “Those kids. What…? What are they doing here? Why are they here?”

  Grace smiled. “Don’t you see, Charlie? Your grandfather knew what I was doing. He could see how it would benefit us. These kids. Look at them. So fresh, so ready. So ready.”

  He glanced at their faces, horrified to stare at any one for more than
a second or two. Ready for what? What had she done to make them look so, so…dead? Like they were in comas, but with their eyes open.

  “What is this?” Charlie heard himself ask out loud.

  “What is this?” Grace said. “Well, it’s the most courageous thing you’ve ever seen. Nobody has had the know-how, or the guts to do this. I’m a pioneer.”

  Dog Man walked over to where Grace stood and looked at Charlie. “As I’m sure you’ve discovered, new witches are the most powerful right when they’re popped. All of that raw energy, unbridled and untethered! But after a week? Nearly all gone. No one has ever been able to regain that level of power,” he finished, shaking his head sadly.

  “Forget it! I…I don’t want to know!” Charlie said, not quite convincing himself. True, he was disgusted by what the witches seemed to be hinting at. But a part of him wanted to know, to understand why the kids were sitting in their chairs, why Malcolm had betrayed everyone to join Grace’s side. Hadn’t he been curious about this ever since Grace had promised to tell him the secrets she held? He squirmed in his chair, torn between horror and fascination, forgetting for the moment that he was no longer bound by the blue light.

  Grace barked a laugh. “Oh, but you do want to know, Charlie. That’s the truth, isn’t it? Why else would you have agreed to fly off with me during our little nighttime rendezvous? Hmm?

  “When I met Thomas here,” Grace nodded at Dog Man, clearly enjoying Charlie’s discomfort, “he’d been playing around with certain taboos in the witching world, things we’ve all been told couldn’t be done.”

  “When someone dies, ” Dog Man Thomas continued, his voice faster, more excited, “there is a burst of energy that can be quite strong. I developed the ability to grab it and use it, to consume it. The sheer power I gained from it was incredible.

  “I showed Grace what I could do. She practiced and practiced, and eventually got the hang of it.”

  ‘But…’ Charlie thought to himself. ‘But Beverly said this was impossible. That it was all a myth.’