by David Lubar
“I’d like to get my ears pierced,” Connie said.
“You came to the right place,” the woman told her. “Have a seat.”
Connie’s mom gave her permission, then told the girls, “I’ll meet up with you at the food court. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“I’m sure. Thanks.” Connie sat and waited while the woman marked both ears with a red pen. “How’s that?” she asked, handing Connie a mirror.
“Great, I guess,” Connie said. She looked up at Nicole, who nodded her approval.
“Here we go,” the woman said. She leaned over, humming, and put the piercing gun against Connie’s right earlobe.
Connie gritted her teeth and waited.
Katchung!
With that, her right ear was pierced.
The pain was sudden and sharp, but it wasn’t too bad. I can take it, Connie thought. She closed her eyes for a moment as a wave of dizziness hit her. She almost felt like she was falling. But the feeling passed quickly enough. Connie took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She was midway through the ordeal. One more katchung and it would be over.
That’s when the woman said, “Oops.”
“What’s wrong?” Connie asked.
“Nothing,” the woman said, but she stepped away from Connie, frowning.
“What is it?” Connie asked. She looked at the woman, trying to read her expression. Then she looked at Nicole.
“Oh my gosh,” Nicole said. She backed away from Connie, too, but she kept staring at Connie’s head. Her eyes were open so wide it looked like her eyebrows were trying to hide under her bangs.
Connie grabbed the mirror and stared at her ear. What she saw was so unexpected—so plain weird—that she had a hard time making sense of it. Around the pen mark and the tiny post in her ear, something was growing. It looked like the icky white fungus that grows on trees in the woods.
Must have been some crud on the gun, Connie thought. She reached up and brushed at the thing on her ear. Her whole earlobe moved with it. The stuff didn’t come off.
She looked back at the woman. “What’s going on?”
“Sometimes there’s an infection,” the woman said. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“Fix it,” Connie said. “Do something.”
The woman shook her head. “I can’t.”
Connie stared back in the mirror. The fungus was still growing. It spread over her ear and across her neck. She dropped the mirror and grabbed at her ear, wanting to rip the fungus away.
It wouldn’t pull free. As Connie removed her hand, she noticed her fingers were covered with the fungus. She tried to scream. But her mouth was covered—sealed by the growth.
She looked at her friend. Nicole was cringing back against the counter, obviously terrified. Connie reached toward Nicole. Then something grew across her eyes. She couldn’t see.
She stumbled, trying to find her friend. Seconds later, Connie struggled to breathe through her nose as the fungus spread over the rest of her face.
The world grew dim. Connie felt herself falling to the floor.
She lay in darkness.
All was calm and quiet.
A sharp smell cut through the peace. Connie jolted and tried to turn her head away from the biting odor of ammonia. She heard the woman’s voice. “Smelling salts. Works every time.”
Then she heard Nicole’s voice: “Hey, you okay?”
Connie opened her eyes. She was on the floor. Nicole and the woman were bent over her. “Just stay still, honey,” the woman said. “You’ll be fine in a minute.”
“My ear … ,” Connie said. She reached up and touched her right earlobe. Something small and cold met her fingers—an earring, just an earring.
“You should have seen yourself,” Nicole said. “The second your ear got pierced, you passed out. I tried to catch you, but you dropped right to the floor—just like one of those ladies in the old movies.”
“Ready for the other one?” the woman asked.
Ready? Connie wasn’t sure. But she didn’t think she’d pass out again. She stood slowly and got back on the chair. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“Brave girl,” the woman said. She leaned over and pierced Connie’s other ear, then told her, “All done.”
It was over. This time, Connie didn’t faint. She paid the woman and left the store. “Glad that’s finished,” she told Nicole.
Nicole didn’t answer. She was staring at Connie’s left ear, her face filled with a mix of fear and disgust. She pointed. She opened her mouth.
“What?” Connie asked. She reached toward her ear but was afraid to touch it.
“It’s …” Nicole paused and swallowed. “It’s …”
“What?” Connie dug her nails into her palm. The sharp pain told her she hadn’t passed out again. Whatever the problem, it was real.
“The hole,” Nicole said. “It’s not quite centered.”
“I can live with that,” Connie said. She stopped to look at her reflection in a store window. “It could be worse. It could be a whole lot worse.”
THE CHIPPER
Yesterday, I’d sent my soccer ball through the living room window. Today, I was heading to my friend Tom Burton’s house so I could pay for the damage. His dad had hired us to clean up the backyard.
Tom was waiting for me in front. He was all excited about something. “Check it out. Dad bought a chipper. He told me we could use it if we’re careful.”
I followed him around to the backyard. At first, I didn’t even notice the thing. It was painted green and it was rusted in spots, so it sort of blended in with the background. But as I got closer, I could smell oil and gasoline.
“That’s a chipper?” I asked. It didn’t seem like much. There was a gas engine at the bottom, along with some gears and belts. Above that, there was just a metal box with a chute coming out of the top. The whole thing sat on wheels so it could be rolled around easily.
“Yeah. That’s it. Here.” Tom handed me a pair of safety glasses. He put on a pair himself. Then he leaned over and yanked the starter cord. The chipper sputtered and roared. Then the roar dropped down to a loud, steady purr.
“Watch this. It’s awesome,” Tom said. He grabbed a branch from the ground and put one end into the chute on the chipper.
I couldn’t help jumping away. The chipper snatched the branch out of Tom’s hand. But it didn’t swallow its victim quietly. It made the most awful shrieking, grinding, screaming sound. A flurry of wood chips sprayed out the other end.
“Cool, huh?” he said, turning toward me and grinning.
Something about seeing that branch sucked inside the chipper and reduced to tiny bits of wood made me feel like my own spine had been ripped out and fed into the chute. Get a grip, I told myself. This was just a machine. It was a machine whose scream scraped all the way down my nerves and through my gut, but it was still nothing more than a machine.
“So,” Tom said, “we can take turns gathering and chipping. Okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll start gathering.” I moved across to the other side of the yard, as far away from the chipper as I could get. I piled sticks in the wheelbarrow until it was full and brought the load over to Tom.
Every time the chipper ate another branch, I flinched. No matter how far away I was, I couldn’t help it. After an hour, Tom said, “Hey, want to switch? I shouldn’t have all the fun.”
“Not yet. I like picking up the sticks.” That was a lie. My back was sore from all the bending and lifting, and my shirt was soaked clear through with sweat. But I’d happily pick up a million more sticks before I’d go close enough to feed that chipper.
“Fine with me,” Tom said.
After another hour and two more offers to trade places, he started getting suspicious. “Come on, let’s switch,” he said when I was dumping a load of sticks next to him.
“No, really, that’s okay. You’re having fun with it. I don’t need a turn.”
Tom stared at me for a moment, then asked, “Yo
u scared?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
He reached down and grabbed a stick. “Here. Prove it.”
“I don’t have to prove anything.” I wondered if it was worth arguing about. Things could go either way. If I stood up to Tom and he backed down, everything would be fine. But it could also become a problem. If Tom pushed, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Maybe I’d put one stick in the stupid thing. Or maybe I’d just walk away. Rather than wait to see what he was going to do, I went to gather more sticks.
I hadn’t gone more than ten feet when I heard the scream. I dropped the handles of the wheelbarrow and spun around. “It’s got me!” Tom was screaming and trying to pull his hand from the chipper.
I ran toward him, reaching out to try to drag him free. I knew it. I knew the machine was dangerous.
“Got ya,” Tom said. Laughing, he stepped away from the chipper and held up his hand, wriggling all five fingers.
“That’s not funny,” I said. I froze, one hand on his elbow, the other grabbing the edge of the chipper’s chute. I jerked my hand back and saw that I’d sliced my finger on a rough edge of metal. It wasn’t a bad cut, but I’d left a splash of blood on the chipper.
“You should have seen your face,” Tom said.
“And you shouldn’t have stuck your arm in there,” I said. I reached to wipe the blood off the machine but stopped. I didn’t want to touch it again.
“I just pretended to stick my arm in.” He paused and stared at me. “Hey, you really are scared of it, aren’t you?”
“I’m not scared. I just don’t like it. Okay?”
Tom grinned. “Sure. No problem.”
As I turned away from the chipper, the strangest thought crossed my mind. It had tasted my blood. Behind me, I could almost sense it wanting to chase after me for another taste.
Tom went back to feeding the chipper. Finally, around three o’clock, he suggested we knock off for the day. That was fine with me—I was exhausted.
I headed home and plunked down in front of the television for a while. I was too tired to move or think. After dinner, I went to bed.
The crunch of tires on the road disturbed my sleep. The shriek of the chipper woke me.
I sat up, startled. But there was silence in the night.
Maybe I’d dreamed it. I walked to the window and looked out toward the street. My hand clenched the windowsill when I realized there was a form in the darkness that didn’t belong. Something dull and heavy sat in the front yard.
Tom’s playing a joke. That had to be it. He’d wheeled the chipper over from his house. Well, he’d gone to a lot of work for nothing, I thought as I got back in bed. I wasn’t going to say anything about it. I’d pretend I’d never heard it.
In the morning, I looked out the window as soon as I got up. There was nothing in front. I checked the backyard, too, and saw nothing out of place, except for the things that were normally out of place. The usual messy assortment of stuff I’d forgotten to pick up was spread around the yard. The old swing set and sandbox that Dad had built when I was little were still there. But that was all.
At breakfast, nobody mentioned hearing any strange sounds. “Ever use a chipper?” I asked Dad. Maybe I was hoping the question would jog his memory.
“Nope,” he said, “but I’d sure like to.”
No, you wouldn’t, I thought as I finished my cereal.
“I’ll bet you slept well last night,” Tom said when I reached his house.
“Like a log,” I said. I knew what he was trying to do. He wanted me to tell him I’d been awakened by the chipper. But I wasn’t going to play along.
“Let’s take a break from the sticks and start on the weeds,” Tom suggested.
I didn’t have any problem with that. The work was just as hard, but at least it didn’t involve the chipper. By the end of the afternoon, we had pretty much cleaned out all of the wild growth.
I went to sleep early again. And I was awakened again by a shriek. The chipper was in the middle of the lawn, tearing the night with a cry like it was shredding giant branches of hardwood. The shriek almost seemed to be calling my name.
“No,” I said, walking away from the window. I refused to believe it was there. I went back to bed and put the pillow over my head, muffling the sound. I still heard it, but now it was only a whisper.
The chipper wasn’t on my lawn in the morning. Something else caught my eye—a small pile of wood chips. Right next to the pile was an impression in the grass. The rake. I’d left the rake out last weekend. I remembered walking past it a couple of times. I kept forgetting to put it away.
I didn’t want to go back to Tom’s place. If this was his idea of a joke, I wanted nothing to do with him. If he wasn’t pulling some kind of joke—then I really didn’t want to go over there. But I had to get the money.
Tom wasn’t outside when I reached his house, so I knocked on the door.
“Tom isn’t here,” his mother said. “There’s been an accident.”
My mind filled with the image of Tom being swallowed by the chipper. I shut my eyes, but the picture didn’t go away. After a moment, I realized his mother was still talking.
“It’s nothing serious, but he has to stay in the hospital for a couple of days.”
Nothing serious? “Uh, what did you say happened?” I hadn’t heard that part.
“He slipped on the basement steps and broke his ankle,” his mother said. “Maybe you can go visit him later. But I’d really appreciate it if you could finish the cleanup today. Do you think you could do that for me? We’ve decided to sell that chipper. Once the cleanup is done, we really don’t have much use for it.”
“Sure,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. I went into the back to gather the last of the sticks. The whole time I worked, I didn’t turn my back on the chipper. It sat in the corner of the yard, silent, as if waiting and planning. There was no way I was going to feed it. I took the sticks to the far side of the yard and shoved them under the bushes.
“That’s it. I’m done,” I said to myself as I hid the last load. “Leave me alone,” I said, looking at the chipper.
I got my money, then went home.
That night, it didn’t wake me. I was already awake when I heard it rolling down the road.
I looked out the window. The chipper didn’t stop in the yard. It went to the porch. I heard a thunk as it bumped against the front steps.
It couldn’t get in. The steps were too high.
As I looked out the window, the chipper rolled around the house toward the backyard.
There were no steps by the back door. The chipper could smash right into the house.
I had to stop it.
I raced out to the yard and grabbed the first thing I could find. It was a baseball bat.
As the chipper came around the side of the house, I swung at it with all my strength. Big mistake. It felt like I’d hit a concrete wall. My hands went numb.
The chipper rolled toward me.
I took a step back.
The bat started jerking in my hands as if someone was pulling at it. I tried to hold on—but it was yanked from my fingers. It flew into the chute of the chipper and turned to sawdust before I could even scream.
All around me, stuff was flying from the ground, getting sucked into the chipper. The same force tugged at me. It took all my strength to move away. I stumbled over something and fell backward.
Soft dampness broke my fall. I clutched at the sand in the sandbox, grabbing a double handful. The chipper loomed over me. I stood, still fighting the force that tried to pull me into the chute.
I couldn’t hold back. My hands got sucked into the chute. I let go of the sand. I could feel air from the whirring blades blast across my fingers as I fell forward. There was an ear-ripping scream. The chipper jolted to a stop as the sand fouled the gears. It jerked twice more, then fell quiet.
I stepped back and grabbed more sand to pour down the chute. Then I gathered pebbles and smal
l stones and tossed them in the hopper. It was over. “Eat that, you piece of scrap.” I brushed my hands and walked away.
My sleep wasn’t disturbed again that night.
In the morning, I looked out into the yard. There was no sign of the chipper. I imagined it crawling off, like a dying animal. It didn’t matter where it had gone. Those awful blades would never spin again. I checked the clock. It was after ten. I’d slept late.
I went out to make sure everything was all right. As I walked around to the front of the house, Dad called me from the garage.
“Look at this,” he said. “I bought it this morning from Mr. Burton. It needed a lot of work, but I think I got it fixed. Darn thing had sand in it. Can you believe that?”
I took a step back. Dad braced one hand on the edge of the chute and grabbed the cord with the other. “Yes sirree,” he said, “once you get the blades spinning, this baby will chew up anything.”
I tried to shout, but my throat closed tight and all that came out was a thin gasp.
Dad pulled the cord.
The chipper roared to life.
That freed my scream. But the engine drowned out my cry. I felt myself being pulled forward. Dad gripped the edge of the chute harder, as if fighting for balance.
The chipper sputtered and died.
“It’s bad,” I told him. “It’s a bad machine.”
Dad shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. It still needs some work. But don’t worry. I’ll get it running as good as new. And then we’ll have some fun.”
“Get rid of it,” I said.
Dad ignored me and looked at his finger. “Hey, I cut myself. Well, no big deal.” He grabbed a wrench and went back to work, humming happily as he fixed the chipper.
I turned and ran. But it didn’t matter. I had nowhere to go, and nowhere that I went would be far enough to escape the chipper.
MUG SHOTS
A hike seemed like a great idea to Vince and his friends. The first hour was fun as they followed the trail through the woods of Great Bear State Park. The second hour was okay. The third hour, when they noticed they weren’t on the trail, wasn’t a whole lot of fun.
“We’re walking in circles,” Vince said. He stopped and stared at a tree that looked distressingly familiar.
