He was eight the first time it happened, sitting and staring
out the living room window into the front yard. He wanted to go outside and
play, but his mother kept telling him he had to wait for her. “No going outside
alone!” It was just the front yard! He would be right there, right in
the front yard. Why couldn’t he go out?
It looked like a pretty day. Bright sunshine. Breeze blowing
in the trees by the street. It wouldn’t be too hot, he knew, because it hadn’t
been too hot all week. Finally, it was feeling like fall and the summer heat
was gone. And it was Saturday! He did not want to sit inside all day. He did
that at school. He wanted to go play!
And, look, there went some kids running down the street. He
didn’t recognize them, though. White boys not from his neighborhood. He
wondered if they’d let him play with them. They mostly didn’t look older than
him, and the one trailing behind looked like he wasn’t even in school yet. A
baby. They ran on down the street, and he realized they were probably going to
the park two blocks away. They didn’t have any moms with them… “Mom…!”
“You have to wait! I’m busy!”
“But Mom!”
“I said no, Jeremiah.”
He grumbled and went back to staring out the window. His
mind drifted off to thinking about the boys and what they must be doing and how
much fun they must be having and outside became out of focus, so out of focus that
he started staring at the pane of glass instead. Staring at his own reflection
in the window, his dark skin and brown eyes and tight, curly black hair. He
wondered again if the boys would play with him. Sometimes white boys would act
like he wasn’t even there and he was left to play by himself.
But that was better than being stuck in the house.
“Mom!”
“Not right now!”
He breathed heavily and went back to staring at his
reflection in the glass. Then outside. Then his reflection. Until he discovered
that if he made his eyes hurt by looking at outside and at his reflection at
the same time that he could see his face on things. Like the tree by the
street. Or on the street. Or on the door of the car. Or on the monster walking
down the sidewalk…
It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. It
must have been ten feet tall! White but dirty all over like it was covered in
grease or oil, splotches of it everywhere. Except for the white pointed head.
That was so white it almost hurt his eyes. One arm was scaly, a sickly green
yellow color, and had huge claws on its long-fingered hand, so long the claws
almost touched the ground. The other arm was a bunch of tentacles, slightly
more green than the scaly arm but still sickly looking, writhing and squirming
in the air, glistening and dripping with slime. When he started screaming, it
looked at him, and he saw its blazing eyes and huge open mouth full of long
teeth.
He fell over out of the chair, screaming and trying to get
away.
And now for the fine print:
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Did not see the story going in that direction...
ReplyDeleteTAS: Just wait till tomorrow.
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