Scraps & Chum (7 page)

Authors: Ryan C. Thomas

***

Nicky lay in bed, a cold compress on his arm that his mother had given him after cleaning up the bathroom. Staring at the ceiling, he tho
ught about the boy with the eye
patch, saw his face in the granulations of paint. Dirt marred the boy
’
s forehead and cheeks like leopard spots, some type of sticky juice or candy was crusted at the corners of his mouth, he wore a shirt with a Pokemon character on it, light blue shorts stained with what looked like grape jelly, and green Velcro sneakers. The eyepatch was not a toy; it was made of heavy leather and had a curved inner edge to fit around the boy
’
s nose, clearly made by medical professionals.

As Nicky stared at the illusio
n above him, he remembered the force
of the pinch, stronger than a boy th
at age should be able to muster
. Pain had been instantaneous, like someone burning him with a match. The tiny fingernails had clipped the skin, drawing blood before Nicky even had time to react. Fast and hard and sharp.

And the boy
’
s mother…had she been leering at him because she thought he was bothering her boy? Or was it something more? The more Nicky thought about it, the more it seemed she
’
d been afraid. But why? Did she know what her son had done? Was she ashamed? Why hadn
’
t she just spanked the brat, or at least scolded him?

Sleep came like a rainstorm, lightly at first, but soon powe
rful and overwhelming. But
dreams of firecrackers and new bikes were constantly interrupted by vignettes of the boy with the eyepatch: the boy
’
s
one good
eye pulsing red, lobster-claw hands that snipped at his sides and back, sending bits of flesh to the ground like confetti. In the dream, Nicky wrestled with the boy, rolling in ribbons of his own skin, until finally he punched the boy in the stomach and sat on top of him.

“
Gimmie this patch,
”
he said. Witho
ut hesitation, he yanked it off,
and fell back screaming. From the boy
’
s black socket poured forth a collection of moans and a stench so foul it rivaled the time he found the decomposed raccoon under the oil drum at the vacant lot. Accompanying the moans, gray and rotted fingers thrust out from the socket, groping and flexing like giant worms wriggling for freedom. They cracked the ocular bones as they forced their way through the hole, reaching out toward Nicky. Hands and arms followed, the boy
’
s skull crumbling as something hideous tore loose from inside, the moaning growing louder and louder! Something black and vaguely human tore its way out!

Nicky woke up sweating.

***

It was the kind of morning that foretold a scorcher of a day. Outside, birds were singing and the neighbor
’
s dog was critiquing it
. Down the street a lawnmower was growling a familiar summer tune.

Nicky rolled out of bed and wiped the sleep from his eyes and made his way downstairs where he found a box of Cheerios already waiting for him on the table. The note next to it said his mother would be home early from work today to take him to the doctor.

Cheerios weren
’
t nearly sweet enough for his taste buds but his mother forbid all the fun cereals like Cocoa Puffs and Apple Jacks, so he added sugar from the sugar bowl. As he sat
eating, he rolled up his sleeve and looked at his arm.

Black!

All Black!

The spoon hit the floor and catapulted milk toward the ceiling as Nicky jumped up from the chair. His entire bicep was covered in a large black scab.
“
What the hell…?
”
he whispered.

Brrring

He ran to the phone, picked up the receiver.
“
Mom, you have to come home
—
”

“
Hey sweetie, need me to change your diaper?
”
There was a guffaw. It was Greg.

“
Oh, it
’
s you.
”

“
Don
’
t sound so excited.
”

“
Listen, Greg, something happened to me. My arm…it
’
s…it
’
s…
”

“
Missing? Morphed into a penis? What?
”

“
Where that kid pinched me, it
’
s all gross.
”

“
Gross how?
”

“
I dunno, just gross. Black and scabby, like sandpaper.
”
He traced his finger across it, felt the crispness of the skin.

“
Maybe you
’
ve got spiders growing under your arm. My mom once said a close friend of hers—
”

“
Jesus, Greg, shut up! I
’
m serious. Look, I have to call my ma, I
’
ll call you back.
”

Greg
’
s voice was cut off as Nicky pressed the button to clear the line. He called his Mother
’
s office. Mrs. Dewberry, the receptionist, answered in her perpetually cheery voice.
“
Hi, Nicky,
”
she said.
“
Your m
om ran out with the boss for a quick meeting. She said if you called to tell you to stay home till she gets there. I heard you had a run in with some thug yesterday. Everything okay?
”

Thug? Jeez, he thought, the kid was younger than he was. But then, he couldn
’
t proudly tell Mrs. Dewberry he was bested by a grade-schooler. The thought made him so angry he wished he could bike over to the boy
’
s house and punch him in the face. Only he didn
’
t know where they boy lived. All he knew was that the boy
’
s mother got her hair cut at… Wait a minute, he thought, the hairdresser might have the woman
’
s address. And if he could find out where the boy lived he could find out what had been done to him.

“
Nicky? You there?
”

“
Yeah, Mrs. Dewberry, yeah, I
’
m fine. Um…I
’
ll just see her when she comes home. Bye.
”

He hung up and dialed Greg back.
“
Greg
’
s Pizza Parlor, would you like to try our
special dingleberry lover’s pie
?
”

“
Greg, get Willy and meet me at my place in ten minutes. We
’
re going to Candy Mountain.
”

“
Again? I don
’
t think I can eat any more Twizzlers. My piss was purple last night.
”

“
I want to talk to that salon next door, see if they know anything about that kid.
”

“
What about your arm?
”

Nicky looked at his arm, which looked like a hamburger that had been left on a grill too long, and felt his anger growing hotter.
“
My m
om is taking me to the doctor at noon. That gives us three hours to get some answers. Hurry up.
”

He hung up the phone. As he ran up the stairs to change into jeans and a T-shirt, he noticed that the black scab had moved down past his elbow.

It
’
s spreading, he realized. And a new sense of horror flooded him.

***

The three boys pedaled with all their might, racing aga
inst time, not even stopping
to spit at Mrs. Hutchinson
’
s mailbox or jump the ramp at the vacant lot. None of them sat down, standing and pumping their legs furiously as they tore down to the candy store. Each bunny-hopped up onto the curb, simultaneously launching themselves off the bikes mere inches from the salon
’
s door. It was closed.

“
Shit!
”
Nicky yelled, banging his fist on the door.

Greg and Willy gaped at Nicky
’
s arm, which they
’
d been doing since meeting at Nicky
’
s house.
“
I think it
’
s getting bigger,
”
Willy said. He stuck a finger out to touch it but pulled back.