by Bryn Roar
She hoped it would be enough.
Bud groaned theatrically. “Almost?”
“Oh, Hush, you big baby. I need a bikini that actually fits me. We passed a store down the street that had one in the window I really liked. This time of year, they should be on sale, too.”
Bud brightened at the news. “Now that’s something I’d love to help you pick out! Try on as many as you want.”
Josie giggled. “Only if you behave. Buy me some lunch first, you perv. I’m starving!”
Over cheeseburgers and chili fries at a hole in the wall restaurant, conveniently named The Hole in the Wall, they chattered away like the old friends that they were. Josie told Bud of her mother’s changed demeanor that morning, leaving out the part about the ripped clothes and the bruises. She didn’t want to dwell on what might have happened, preferring to contemplate an actual change in her mother’s behavior. Bud told Josie that he suspected Tubby of having a crush on her, and Josie acted surprised to hear it. They laughed until they cried, about the little mishap with the bra, and the comical look on Bud’s face when Josie’s boob had its coming out party.
They polished off their burgers, and after tipping the waitress a five-dollar bill (for assuming they were old enough to order beer with their meals), they left The Hole in the Wall, hand in hand.
Bud waggled a pretend cigar and said in his terrible Groucho voice: “Now let’s get you into that bikini.”
*******
After walking Joel home from school, Tubby and Rusty did an about-face and headed back into town. They were nervous about walking into the lion’s den, so to speak, but were ready to get it over with as well. Dr. Bidwell’s office faced out on Town Hall Lane, in the Town Hall Building on the second floor. There was also a dentist on the same level, who worked on Mondays and Wednesdays.
They walked into Bidwell’s office and set their bookbags in the waiting room. Miss Presley, an overweight, unattractive brunette, was Dr. Bidwell’s ultra-competent nurse and receptionist. Bidwell had hired her for just those attributes (he didn’t want any distractions at work). More importantly, the woman knew how to mind her own business.
She greeted the boys and told them Dr. Bidwell would be right with them.
Rusty picked up a three-year old Time magazine. The pages rattled in his shaking hands. “I wonder if he already called our parents.”
Tubby was about to venture a guess when the nurse poked her head out the reception window. “Rusty, dear? Doctor Bidwell will see you now.”
Tubby was following along when the nurse opened the door to let Rusty into the back room. She smiled at Tubby and said, “Wait here, son. He’ll be with you soon.”
The nurse led Rusty away, shushing him all the way down the hall. Tubby stared blankly at the closed door before snapping out of it. He tried the doorknob. Locked!
He could scarcely believe how easily she had separated them! He wondered for a moment whether he should go home and return with his mother. That would mean abandoning his friend, though, and he couldn’t do that. After returning to his chair and thinking it over, Tubby decided to call home and ask his mother to come down to the office right away. Yes, that’s the thing to do!
That way, at least, she’d be here if Bidwell tried to detain him or Rusty from leaving. He was heading for the reception window, where there was a phone on the nurse’s desk, when he noticed a door standing ajar beside the one Rusty had just gone through.
A copper plaque on the door read: Private.
Tubby pushed it open a little ways further, hoping it would lead to the exam rooms. Instead, it revealed itself to be Dr. Bidwell’s private sanctum. There was a phone on the desk. He walked over to the big oak table, littered with papers and charts, and picked up the handset on the telephone. He had just started dialing his home number when he noticed a red folder in front of the leather chair.
It lay open on its Table of Contents.
The top page, in bold cryptic letters, read:
AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY!
TOP SECRET
RABIES PROJECT
10/11/04 REPORT
*Status vaccine schedule. Pg.’s. 2-3
*Mortality Rate. Pg. 4
*Psychological and Physiological side effects. Pg.’s. 5-13
*Military applications. Pg.’s. 14-17
*Unexpected effects. Pgs. 18-58.
Tubby racked the receiver and turned the folder around so he could read it better. Just as it was getting interesting, the phone started to ring in the reception area.
He left Bidwell’s office and hurried over to his seat before the nurse could return to her station.
He picked up Rusty’s magazine just as the nurse brought his friend back into the waiting room. Tubby wasn’t sure what surprised him more: Rusty’s early return, or the look of relief on his friend’s face.
The nurse picked up the phone, and holding the receiver to her bosom, she said, “Rusty, would you take Ralph back to the exam room, please?”
Rusty held the door open as Tubby waddled over. “Don’t sweat it, Opie! There’s nothing to it, man. Just blood, spit, and a quick once-over.”
Tubby followed him down the hall and into another room, where Bidwell was scribbling something down in a chart. He looked up as the boys entered, and smiled his shiny shark smile. Despite that, the man looked beat.
“So you’re Ralph Tolson. I’ve spoken several times with your mother since yesterday. She’s quite anxious to find out if you’re okay.” He looked over at Rusty, leaning against the closed door. “You can wait outside, Rusty.”
“If it’s all right, sir, can he stay with me?” Tubby had seen the way Bidwell looked him over (the eyes never lied), and Tubby felt an immediate dislike for the man.
Bidwell nodded affably enough. “Makes no difference to me. Go ahead and strip down so we can finish up with this business. I’m a busy man these days.”
Tubby gulped. “Gee. Even my undies?”
“Even your undies. Chop, chop, now.”
Tubby glanced over at Rusty. His friend gave him a reassuring smile, and Tubby nodded…understanding that what Rusty saw in here, would stay in here.
“Have you had any headaches in the past 48 hours?” Bidwell asked him, his pen poised over the chart.
“No, sir.” Tubby stepped out of his pants.
“Irritability, fever, anxiety?”
“None of the above, sir.”
Bidwell rolled over on his stool while Tubby finished undressing. Ralph had never felt so butt-naked in all his life. He was all-too aware of his jiggling belly and dancing boobs. Despite what Rusty had said, it felt like this was taking forever. Bidwell started with an eye examination, pulling back the lids on both, and visually checking for only God knows what. Tubby heard the man breathe out a sigh of relief after studying his eyes, and the rest of the exam seemed a token effort after that.
Bidwell held up a Petrie dish under Tubby’s mouth and said, “Spit, please.” Then he labeled it and set it aside. He then lifted Tubby’s arms and told him to turn around so he could check his backside for scratches or bites.
Then, quite unexpectedly, the doctor yanked some hairs from the nape of Ralph’s neck.
“Ow!” Tubby said, looking over his shoulder. Bidwell was putting the hair follicles into a glass tube. Annoyed, Ralph glanced over at Rusty, wondering why his friend hadn’t mentioned the hair pulling.
Rusty didn’t notice the perturbed look his friend had shot his way. He seemed preoccupied, focused entirely as he was on his friend’s crotch.
Bidwell yawned. “You can get dressed now, Ralph. You may not know it yet, big boy, but someday you’re gonna be very popular with the ladies.” Bidwell clicked his pen, pocketed it, and snickered out the side of his mouth.
Tubby assumed the man was mocking him. Even in the adult world, he couldn’t get away from the bullies. His face burned with shame.
“My nurse will take some blood and give you a specimen cup to fill before you leave. I’m con
fident, though, that like Rusty, you’re rabies free. If your mom has any questions about the exam, or any other concerns, she can call me tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to be swamped until then, I’m afraid.” Bidwell’s face darkened as he pointed a finger at Tubby. “Now like I told Rusty before, for your own good, stay out of those damn woods, you hear me?” He then turned away from the boys, already dismissing them from his mind. 48 hours had come and gone with no further outbreaks! A thought occurred to him.
“Rusty…how are Bud and Josie?”
“Sir?”
“Their eyes, Rusty,” he sighed. “Are they bloodshot? Has either of them complained of flu-like symptoms the past two days? Be truthful now, son.”
“No, sir. They’re the healthiest two kids I know.”
Relieved to hear it, Bidwell smiled again.
*******
Joel went straight to his room and put his Spiderman backpack into his tiny closet. He checked the Jimmy Neutron clock on his bedside table. 3:19. Josie should be home any minute now. His father stared back at him from a framed photo beside the clock, as if trying to impart some solemn wisdom. The grainy image on the photo, as always, though, remained mute and secretive.
A gurgling sound from Joel’s gut made him jump.
“Jeez alou,” he said, rubbing his rumbling stomach. “I’m as hungry as a hippo!”
He tiptoed past Shayna’s closed door, hoping she might be out, or at least asleep. He wondered at his sister’s inability to see the difference in their mother. To Joel, the change was as obvious as the metamorphosis of a maggot into a fly. And quite possibly, just as apt. From bad to worse, as the saying went. Shayna was dead inside where it mattered most. And the bitch of it was, the woman didn’t even know it! Like one of those soulless zombies from Night of the Living Dead. A movie he’d had to go behind his sister’s back to watch—like most of the cool horror films Josie brought home.
If Josie wouldn’t listen to reason, maybe it was time to talk to Rusty or Bud. At least they wouldn’t dismiss it out-of-hand! It was as if his sister was blinded by love or long lost memories of how their mother used to be. By the false promise of their mother’s return to those days. Not having any fond memories of Shayna, Joel was more inclined to see the truth.
He was checking out the slim pickings in the fridge when he heard a sly sort of sound in the hallway beyond the kitchen. The sound of a door slowly creaking open…
Shayna’s door.
He stood still as a mouse that knows a snake is about and on the prowl. The stink of vomit and body waste wafted out to him from the hallway. Coming my way…
A throaty laugh turned Joel’s skin into a sheet of frozen goose pimples. As fear fell on top of him like a toppled cow he felt the hair lift up on his head. Something wicked was crouched now on the other side of the open refrigerator door. Dark and inhuman, it waited for the fridge door to close. He decided it could stay there, too. As long as he didn’t close the door, then he wouldn’t have to face his Fate. That rancid stink, waiting to swallow him whole. A dark shadow spilled underneath the Frigidaire door and crawled over his feet. His toes curled inside his Nikes as he became aware of an echo in the house. It assaulted his ears with a deep, pounding bass.
The clock. The black cat clock!
Ticking off the remaining seconds of his life on the wall above his head. Sounding like an amplified heartbeat. Like Bud, eight years ago, Joel accepted this impossibility as irrefutable fact. Evil was afoot here, and Joel knew that, too. Knowing he was about to die, he began to cry, his body shaking violently. A stream of urine ran fast and hot down his leg, and puddled around his sneakers.
A startled sob escaped him, as the monster grew tired of the wait. A hand, the once manicured nails torn free from their nail beds, curled around the side of the refrigerator door and slowly pushed it closed.
Joel made no effort to stop it. He, too, had tired of the wait. He wondered: Will it be dark or light on the other side? Joel hoped it would be light. He hated the dark.
The red-eyed thing that had once been his mother stared up at him from the kitchen floor. Poised like a spider ready to pounce on its prey, her elbows and knees splayed in grossly unnatural angles, naked as the day she was born. Her pendulous breasts looked more like bloated sacs of venom than the nurturing body parts that had once given him succor as a babe. The nipples more like fleshy stingers. Joel stared at the dirty soapsuds, flowing non-stop from her gurgling mouth. How is that possible, he wondered, almost idly, that much spit? How can it be?
He closed his eyes and waited for the end. And by the sometimes grace of God, it was an end.
*******
The seconds whirred away like playing cards on the spokes of some kid’s bike, as the black cat bore witness to the unspeakable horrors on the kitchen floor below.
Its soulless eyes seemed to widen, its tail to straighten out, in a contented, self-satisfied manner, which was altogether vile. The slitted eyes watched the rough beast drag the child back into its lair. A swath of blood on the cheap linoleum, marking this, Joel O’Hara’s last journey on Spaceship Earth…
*******
Neither boy had much to say, walking down Main Street. Despite their parents needing them home, where preparations were well underway for the coming wind and rain, they stopped off at Moon Man’s for a couple of root beer floats, each hoping a Garfield Special would help break the awkward silence, which had inexplicably fallen over them. The experience in the exam room had been so humiliating that Tubby had forgotten all about his discovery in Bidwell’s office. As for Rusty, he was depressed over what he’d witnessed back there. He hadn’t been surprised at how fat Tubby was. Shit, you can’t cover up that kind of blubber with clothes! Besides, he’d seen Tubby in the locker room after gym class, even if it had always been from behind. Tubby went to a great deal of effort to block any view of his hanging gut and titties. Anyway, the flab of fat hadn’t been what Rusty was staring at in the first place. It was Tubby’s long, thick pecker, hanging halfway down to his chubby, dimpled knees. Fucking thing looked like a kielbasa sausage! It wasn’t that Rusty begrudged his fat friend such an impressive endowment; he had just come to think of Tubby as a social equivalent. They were both on the timid side and they both had physical shortcomings that the other could relate to.
At least Rusty had thought so.
Over the past few years, Rusty had had opportunity to see what other boys his age had in the way of equipment, and there was no doubt in his mind he was lagging behind in that crucial department. He wondered again if his penis, along with the rest of his shrimpy body, would ever grow any bigger. Or would he end up like that runty black kid on TV? In a perpetual state of preadolescence. It seemed a cruel stroke of Fate, when the Huggins's men had always run to the extra, extra large. Rusty would often wonder, of all the exceptional genes he could have inherited from his mom, why’d he have to take after her when it came to body size! She had once caught him standing on a stool, checking himself out in the bathroom mirror. He’d been terribly embarrassed, and his mother was wise enough to know why. Without offering any well-meaning commentary, she’d left a photo album on Rusty’s bed. It was of her family, running many generations past. He saw several young boys, his own age and older, many of whom were just as small as he. Yep. Just as I suspected!
The Atkins’ men, however, were another story…
They were all fair-sized fellows—not a gnat in the bunch! Her message had been clear: He would grow out of it! Okay…But when?
“That was a lot easier than I thought,” Tubby said, trying to spear the cherry at the bottom of the glass with his straw. He went with a sugar-free float and was surprised at how tasty it was. Then again, he was so hungry, he bet even the straw would taste good by now.
