Hide-n-Go Coffin
and Other Short
Stories
By
M.J.A.
Ware
DIGITAL EDITION v1.0b
PUBLISHED BY: CG Press LTD. at SmashWords
Copyright
© 2010, 2011 by M.J.A. Ware
Cover Art © 20011 – Ronnell D.
Porter
All
rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved
above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or
introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or
by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright
owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any product referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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* * * * *
Table
of Contents
Hide-n-Go-Coffin
Brother's
Keeper
Grandpa's
Suits
About
the Author
* * * * *
Hide-n-Go-Coffin
"How'd you get the keys to this place?" I asked, looking up at the huge stone mausoleum standing in the middle of the cemetery. The full moon coated the entire graveyard with an eerie glow.
"Quiet, Jason. I told you, you're only allowed to speak when spoken to." All big sisters are pains, but Jenny could be downright cruel. Like tonight: Halloween was half over and I hadn't even gotten a single piece of candy.
We'd just moved to a new town. Mom gave me the option to go trick-or-treating with Jenny, or stay home and pass out candy. I would have stayed home, except Jenny begged me not to go. Said I'd embarrass her in front of her new friends. So of course, I went.
"Lance and Ted's dad works at the mortuary. He's got keys for everything," Lindsey said. She was dressed as a cave girl, her long blonde hair held up by a plastic bone. She was Jenny's one nice friend. The rest of them were jerks.
"Dad says this place is haunted," Ted said.
Ted and his brother, Lance, were twins. I could only tell them apart because Lance was a little overweight and his blonde hair was already starting to thin.
The two of them didn't even bother to wear costumes. They'd just pasted on little devil horns and carried plastic pitchforks, which they kept poking the girls with every time one of them turned around. If I were just a little older, I'd have broken those stupid pitchforks over their empty heads.
The huge steel doors yawned a high-pitched creak as they slid open.
We all piled into the cold and silent building. Our flashlights danced around the barren walls. It was slightly less scary than the graveyard.
"What exactly is this place, anyway?" Lindsey asked, with tension in her voice.
Two stone caskets were against either of the side walls and a metal one sat in the middle of the room. Some dusty boxes stood stacked in the corners.
"They use it for storage," Ted said.
"Old man Jones built this place for himself and his family. He wanted them to be buried together." Lance, trying to sound like a creepy old dude, held his flashlight under his chin so it cast long shadows on his face. "But one day his son disappeared. Drowned in Black Rock River, they said. But they never found a body. Jones wouldn't believe his son drowned. Kept insisting that one day he'd return. His will said if his son should ever turn up, they should bury him right in this coffin here." He pointed to the gray metal coffin in the center of the room resting on a marble pedestal.
"Alive?" asked Jenny.
"No, once he died, silly," said Ted. "Anyway, that was like fifty years ago. He's not turning up now."
"But legend says that old man Jones will settle for anyone who's foolish enough to hang around here on Halloween night," Lance said.
"Why Halloween night?" I asked, not buying any of it.
"Well, um... because that's the night old man Jones' son disappeared."
"So he was swimming at night?"
"Hey, he could have been skinny dipping," said Ted, as he pulled out a six-pack from inside the coffin.
"Bet you don't believe in ghosts though, huh?" asked Lance.
"Not one as lame as that," I said.
"Okay, I'll prove it." he pointed to the coffin. "Hop in."
"Eww, gross," said Lindsey.
"Lance and I used to play hide-n-go-coffin all the time."
"Yeah, you never know who you'd find inside," Lance added.
"Jason's afraid of his own shadow. He'd never let you stick him in there," Jenny said.
"I am not," I protested.
"Here's your chance to prove it." Lance opened the lid.
"Come on guys, you're scaring him." Lindsey looked at me like I was some lost little puppy.
"No, it's fine, I'll do it. But I want that big bag of candy from your front seat."
"Deal. Stay in there for five minutes and it's yours." Lance patted the coffin's pillow.
Taking off my mask, I climbed into the coffin and slowly laid back. Except for the cold spot where the beer had been, it was actually pretty comfy inside.
"Bye bye," Lance said as he slammed the top shut.
"Be back in five minutes," Ted said, sounding muffled.
The door creaked as they left, probably to go drink. Jenny was in for a surprise if she thought I wasn't going to tell Mom about all this.
It was really dark. I pulled out my phone and started playing Pac-man.
It was more like fifteen minutes. But soon, I heard the mausoleum door squeak open.
"Time’s up," one of the brothers said. The coffin moved slightly.
"Ted, it's stuck. Help me open it."
A second later, the thing jerked back and forth a couple times.
"Come on, guys, this isn't funny," I said.
"Knock it off and let him out," my sister said.
"We're serious, it's stuck."
"Isn't there a latch or something?" I yelled.
"What, a latch? No, it should just open."
"Get him out of there now!" my sister yelled. I was getting a little nervous, but for once, it seemed, Jenny had my back.
"Come on, let's go back to the van and get a crowbar."
"Jason, we'll hurry back," Lindsey said.
"I'll be right here." I tried to sound brave.
They must have thought it was funny to leave me in there, because a good couple of hours passed. I didn't realize how long it'd been until my phone died. Now I was starting to panic.
"Guys?" I called. "Jenny, let me out of here!"
I hollered and pounded on the lid for a couple of minutes, hoping they'd hear me. Soon it became apparent they'd left. Jenny was going to be in so much trouble when Mom found out.
It was up to me to get myself out. Jerking my upper body back and forth, I managed to move the coffin a little. I slammed my back into the side several times. The coffin shifted slightly more.
I kept at it, moving it little by little. Until, like a teeter-totter, the weight shifted and it fell.
That did it. There was a loud crack and the top popped. Ripping it open, I jumped out.
It was really dark. I couldn't see a thing, except a very faint light coming from the crack between the doors. I slowly made my way over.
I felt around until I found the handle and turned it. The door was locked. They'd locked me in. Lance and Ted were more than cruel; they were sadistic.
I pounded on the doors, hoping someone would hear. No one came, but the doors felt weak. I kicked the small gap between them. For a second, more light broke in. The lock must have been rusty.
I kept kicking and kicking until my leg hurt. Then I kicked with the other leg. Finally, I put my shoulder into it and the doors gave way. Flying out, I landed on my back, looking out on a sky filled with clouds and a sliver of moon.
I stood up. Everything was much darker than when we’d gone in.
I could barely see as I walked through the cemetery. Each step I was sure some ghost or ghoul waited to reach up and grab me as I passed over its grave.
Several times I stumbled, and had to grab hold of a tombstone to keep from falling.
Finally, I made it to the wrought-iron front gates. I didn't even bother to yell for help. I just climbed over.
It wasn't that far to my house. But the streets looked different. With my phone dead, I didn't know what time it was, but it must have been late—no one was out.
Thick clouds obscured what little light the moon cast. The houses all seemed grayer, older. The trees large and menacing, like they'd grown overnight.
Finally, I got to my house. Mom hadn't gotten me my own set of keys yet, so I knocked on the door.
A minute later, it opened and a really old, bald guy appeared, his shirt barely covering his beer gut. "Kid, we ran out of candy hours ago; get home before your parents call the cops."
"Umm, does Cathy Baker live here?" I said, thinking maybe I'd gone to the wrong house.
"What'd you say?"
He opened the door wider and took a step out. Behind him, I could see this huge TV set taking up the entire wall. It must have been HD or something, ’cause it looked 3D.
"Look. I don't know what you're trying to pull, but Cathy Baker's been dead almost ten years." He towered over me menacingly. He wasn't joking around.
I didn't know what to say.
"Lance, who's at the door?" I heard Jenny's voice. She sounded tired or sick, but it was her.
"It's just some punk kid playing a Halloween prank."
"Jenny? Jenny, it's me! Where's Mom?" I pleaded desperately.
"What? Lance, who is that?" A dish or something broke inside the house and a shadow approached the door.
"No, it can't be." The old guy dropped his beer, looking closely at me, shaking his head. "The casket was empty."
She stepped into the light. There stood my sister—old, wrinkled, and decrepit.
"Aaaaah!" We both screamed in chorus.
* * * * *
Brother's
Keeper
“Bradley!" I yell at my little brother, "where’d you put my sled?”
Bradley's green eyes glare. “I already told you, I didn’t take it.”
We've only been at the cabin for a day and already my big Christmas present is missing. Steel runners, composite frame, even a steering harness, it was awesome. Until it disappeared. “I know you took it. If I find it outside, you’re never borrowing it again.”
“Again? You’d have to let me actually use it before I could borrow it again.”
“Zack, I’m sure you just left your sled somewhere,” Mom says without looking up, too busy rummaging through cabinets trying to figure out where everything's stored. “Did you check outside?”
“Yes, I looked out all the windows; it’s gone.” I grip my mug of hot cocoa, trying to get some feeling back into my fingers.
“Well, maybe you should go outside and look.”
“Maybe Bradley should, he’s the one who left it out—”
“Did not,” Bradley snaps. “But if I find it, you’ve gotta let me ride it too.”
“Did too. And you better go look now, ’cause if it gets covered with snow, we’ll never find it.”
“There’s going to be a major storm tonight,” Dad says, looking up from the paper. “I’ll check around for the sled. I need to bring in more firewood anyway.” He heads out of the kitchen and down the stairs that lead to the front door.
Mom picks up from dinner while I make faces at my little brother.
“Do you hear that?” Mom asks.
“Hear what?”
“I think it’s the door,” Bradley says, getting up.
“I’ll get it.” Pausing just long enough to push my brother back into his seat, I run down the stairs toward the front door. The cabin sits on the side of a hill with the main floor on top of the garage, so a really long stairway leads down to the door.
Opening the door, I see my dad with a stack of firewood so high, the top of his head is barely visible. “Whew, I’m glad you heard me from up there. I was really pounding. I think the doorbell’s broken.”
“Where’s my sled?” I ask.
“Sorry, sport, couldn’t find it.”
Poking my head out the door, I glance around outside. No sled, just gray storm clouds gathering around the cabin.
I get upstairs just as Dad's throwing another log into the big red brick fireplace. He shakes the snow off his jacket. “Hope I got enough wood to last all night.”
Everyone sits around an old pine coffee table. “Zack, come play.” Bradley holds up a worn pack of Uno cards.
“Not with you, you sled thief—” I'm about to say more when I catch the look in Dad’s eye. I know I’m about to get it, so I take off for my room.
The cabin has two big rooms in front that sit over the garage, with a great view of the lake. Bradley’s afraid of sleeping in a strange place, so he got the room next to Mom and Dad. That leaves me with the dinky back bedroom. No view, just a half-window that looks onto snow-covered pines.
I'm deep in thought about how ticked I am at Bradley for losing my sled when I trip over it.
Lying on the ground, grabbing my throbbing knee, seems to jog my memory. Now I remember dropping the sled in my room after coming inside. Mom was yelling at me for tracking snow through the cabin. I left it here to keep it away from my little brother.
I feel kinda bad. I mean, sure, statistically speaking, it’s almost always the little brother’s fault—except this time.
I can make it up to him by letting him ride it tomorrow. I just need to make sure no one finds out it was here all along, or I’ll be in the doghouse for the whole trip.
Sitting on the floor, I grab my sled and push it way back under the bed's old rusty steal frame.
Once my knee stops aching, I think about going to play cards with the family, but decide I don’t feel like it. For a moment, I even consider telling my brother sorry, but that thought is quickly replaced with figuring out how to get the sled out without anyone noticing.
The best option seems to be waiting until everyone’s asleep and then dumping it outside.
I play Tetris on my phone until Mom comes in to tell me goodnight. “You know, you really shouldn’t be so hard on your bother. You’re lucky to have one.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don't tell me again how terrible it was to be an only child,” I say, not looking up from my game. “Night, Mom.” I hear her blow me a kiss as she leaves.
After waiting like thirty minutes, I decide it’s probably safe to go take the sled out. I figure I’ll leave it somewhere Dad might think he just overlooked it.
Sled in hand, I tiptoe toward the front of the cabin. As I'm passing the kitchen, there's a sound at the front door. Someone’s down there. I dash back before I’m seen.
After several minutes of silence, I figure it’s safe to try again.
Slowly, I descend the stairs, my sled in hand. Every time a step creaks I stop and count to ten before moving on.
The big oak door is slightly ajar; closed, but not enough to latch. That noise must have been Dad carrying more wood up. He must not have closed it all the way.
Outside it’s pitch black. The wind howls and the only things visible are snow flurries flying in crazy patterns.
My PJs and slippers aren't exactly cold weather gear. The chill is already stinging my ears. I can’t wait around for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Feeling the shingle siding with my one free hand, I head around the side of the cabin, looking for somewhere to put the sled.
As my eyes begin to adjust, shadows appear in the trees, the wind moving them in fits and bursts; they look like angry vipers poised to strike.
I know under a tree's the best place to put my sled, but I’m having a hard time convincing my feet. The bitter bite of the cold wins out over fear, and I step into the snow, toward some trees about half a basketball court away. Before I get five feet, something rustles in the bushes. It’s unmistakable, not wind, but something moving.
What type of animal—or monster—would be out on a night like this? If it's growling, I can’t hear it over the wind. I don’t wait around to find out. Dropping the sled, I dash inside and lock the door, listening for the click as I turn the deadbolt.
Lying back in bed, I look out the window. Most of it has iced up; all I can see is dark shadows violently tossing snow around.
I try to figure out why I can’t sleep. Then, as my mind begins to wander, a sound creeps into the room. A tap, tap, tapping.
Sitting bolt upright in bed, I listen. The only sound now is anger in the wind as it pummels the treetops.
It must have been my imagination; maybe frozen snow battering the window.
Sleep almost comes, when I hear it again. Tap, tap, tap. Looking at the dreary window, it seems as if the shadows are creeping closer. I throw the blankets over my head.
Whatever it is, it can’t be an animal. Because of the hill, outside the house that side window is pretty far up.
I tell myself, it must be hail, maybe a tree branch, batted around in the wind.
I sit and listen. As if on cue, it starts. Tap, tap. This time it continues: Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap—softer now, almost desperate.
Still under the covers, I reach for my headphones. Tap, tap, tap. The sound drills into me; I feel it in my gut.
I put the earbuds in. Tap, tap, tap.
I plug them into my phone. Tap, tap, tap.
I quickly select a song. Tap, tap—the sound is driven out by music.
By the light of my phone, I setup a playlist of music that I might be able to sleep to. Then turn it down as low as I dare. I won’t hear that sound again. That tap, tap, tap. But there it is, still echoing in my head.
I try to sleep, but the tapping won’t leave me alone. I can’t hear it, but it’s still there. I know it is, calling out to me—desperate for my attention.
I don't sleep well, I keep having this dream that a branch breaks through the window. Snow and ice howl into the room. The branch reaches in for me like a monstrous bark covered hand. After many restless hours, I finally wake up. I sit up in bed and the aroma of pancakes drifts down the hall.
I jump out and dash for the kitchen, hoping to make it before my brother eats all the bacon.
Mom and Dad sit at the table, coffee and OJ in hand. I smile at the big plate of bacon sitting between them.
“Oh good, you’re up, honey,” Mom says, “Between you and your brother, I thought breakfast might get cold.”
“Some storm we had last night, huh?” Dad puts down his mug. “Woke me up a few times.”
I pile way more than my share of bacon onto my plate, then put a piece or two back. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well either.”
“Can’t put if off any longer; we need more firewood.” Dad looks down at my plate. “I better wake Bradley up before he misses out on breakfast.” His slippers make a shuffling sound on the wooden floor as he heads toward the front bedroom.
Silent and still, I sit looking at my plate. Pancakes with blueberry syrup, scrambled eggs cooked in beacon grease. It all looks so good, but I don't know—I just can’t eat.
Mom looks at me and puts a hand on my forehead, “Zack, don’t you feel—”
“Where’s Bradley?” Dad suddenly appears in the room. “Susan, have you seen Bradley? He’s not in his room.”
“What? Where could he be?” Mom stands up. “Zack, you don’t know where your brother is, do you?”
“Who, me? Did you check under his bed? He’s such a big chicken. Maybe—”
“His coat’s gone, but the rest of his clothes are still hung up.” Dad’s putting on his jacket and shoes.
“You don’t think he went outside?” Mom says, turning off the stove.
“I don’t know. Where else he could be?” Dad’s already heading down the stairway, gloves and scarf in hand. “You two get dressed and meet me outside.”
Mom's face turns pale as snow. "Didn't you say the doorbell was broken?"
I run to my room and put my jacket and ski pants over my PJs. When I reach down for my boots, I almost throw up.
I start to lose my balance and sit on my rear to get my boots on. Something’s missing. No tap, tap, tap.
I grab my cap and run down and out the front door. Dad’s coming back from across the street.
“Zack, check the left side of the house, I’ll go right. We’ll meet up around back.”
“No Dad, let’s go together…” but he’s already taken off.
“Bradley!” Dad's voice echoes through the trees.
Slowly, my feet carry me around the cabin, as if they’re on automatic. I round the corner, and there’s my sled. Not where I left it, but upright against the wall, right under my window.
Standing on it, my little brother, covered in frost, like a Popsicle left in the freezer too long. Arms, hands, fingers, reaching up to the window outside my bedroom. He's still, slumped upright, not moving. Tiny fingers motionless, frozen to the bottom windowsill.
In my head I still hear tap, tap, tap.
* * * * *
When I asked Mom if I could have a boy-girl party, I should have realized that she gave in way too easily. “Clean out Grandpa’s old room, Zoey, and you can have your party there—just no closing the door.”
It sounded like a great idea. I mean, it’s huge and way down at the end of the hall—as far away from parental supervision as you can get without leaving the house.
Just one problem: ever since Grandpa died, that’s where everyone dumps their junk. So if I didn’t want my party to be a bust, all the stuff that’d piled up over the last few years had to get moved to the garage.
“How’d Mom convince you to clean up Pop’s room?” my little brother, Chad, asked.
“Said I could have my party here, but only if I picked the place up first.” I added, “Care to help?”
“Don't think so. I’m looking for my basketball. Dad said it's in the closet.”
Chad opened the closet door and a rush of cold air came charging out.
He dug around the walk-in closet. “Be careful with Grandpa’s suits,” I said, as I put my hair into a ponytail. Grandpa had been an ornery old geezer, but he always dressed sharp, never leaving the house without a suit. Not those old man suits with patches on the elbows. He only wore wool, custom-fitted ones. The closet was full of them, steamed and pressed, like he might step out in one at any time.
“Darn it. My ball’s not here. That’s the third basketball I’ve lost.”
“I’ll let you use mine, if you promise to stay clear of my party.”
“No problem, I’m sleeping over at Jimmy’s.” He ran off towards my room.
“Just don’t touch anything else,” I hollered.
It took most of the day, but I managed to clean the place up. The worst part was a moldy grilled cheese sandwich I found semi-permanently fused to the carpet. I cleared out just about everything, except for the closet and a shadow box with Grandpa’s old war medals. Dad wouldn't want those taken down. I brought in a paint-splattered card table, some folding chairs, and an old mini-stereo. I even talked Dad into dragging the extra sofa in from the garage.
I had just enough time to take a shower and curl my hair before Tammy, my best friend, came over. “Wow, you really made this creepy room look nice,” she said as she flattened the wrinkles in her skirt.
“What do you mean, creepy?” Sure, Grandpa's style was old-school, but Chad and I had always played Pinochle with him in here—it wasn't creepy.
I glanced at the card table, the same one we'd get out when we used to play cards. Except Grandpa always put a tablecloth over it. We liked playing with him because he never just let us win. But he'd get so ticked if he had a run of bad luck—his face would get all tense and contorted, still somehow, for us, he'd manage a painful looking smile.
“I don’t know, there’s not much light. Plus, your gramps croaked in here. It’s just creepy.” Looking around the room, she added, “But tonight it will be totally perfect for spin the bottle.”
“Yeah right, maybe my parents will join in.” I rolled my eyes. “They’re not even going to let us close the door.”
“I sleep over like every weekend—I know your parents always watch a movie in their room.” Tammy put her hands on her hips. “When your parents go to their room, you better promise we can play spin the bottle.”
“If they go to their room, we’ll see.” I didn’t know what she was getting all excited about. None of the guys we knew had ever asked a girl out—I bet none of them would even dance.
A couple hours later, just about everyone had shown up. The room was packed. The guys all stood around the card table devouring chips and sodas. The girls, as expected, were the only ones dancing.
Mom kept coming in, supposedly to check the snacks, but I knew she was just spying on us.
It was almost nine when Dad poked his head in and said, “Zoey, turn the music down, your baby sister just went to bed.” He looked around the room. “Mom and I are going to watch a movie. But I’ll be checking on you kids.”
Tammy looked over at me and smiled. We both knew there was no way we’d see Dad again until the party was over.
As soon as he left the room Tammy ran and turned the stereo down. “Okay, everyone, time for spin the bottle.”
Some of my friends giggled; most of the guys just looked at each other nervously.
“Oh, come on. It’s no big deal.” Tammy got her backpack and pulled out a beer bottle.
“You brought beer?” one of the boys asked.
“No, silly, it’s empty.” She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the floor. “You’ve gotta play with a beer bottle, it’s a rule.”
“How do you play?” asked Lance Jones, a little too eagerly.
“If you get a bowser do you have to kiss her?” shouted Justin Roberts; on cue, all the guys chuckled.
“It’s simple. You go into the closet for two minutes with whoever the bottle points to. You don’t have to kiss or french or anything, if you don’t want to.”
Pretty much everyone looked a little alarmed by this.
“It’s my bottle, so I have to go first, that’s another rule.” By now, everyone sat in a circle: boys on one side, girls on the other. “Zoey goes after me, ’cause it’s her party.”
Tammy spun the bottle three times before it finally pointed to a guy: Kevin Ramirez. A little shy, not the cutest guy, but it could be worse. At least he wouldn’t try to stick his tongue down her throat or something.
They went in the closet and the door closed behind them with a whoosh. The hinge creaked like an old abandoned vault. Lance turned off the closet light, and a couple of guys kept time. We all stood around, looking at the door or the wall, just not at any of the boys. When exactly two minutes had passed, three guys lunged for the handle, whipping open the door and flipping the light on. Tammy and Kevin sat on opposite sides of the floor. Tammy smiled. “Well, wasn’t that fun?”
She popped up and actually took Kevin’s hand, pulling him out of the closet. He had Tammy’s glitter lip gloss all over his face. But I totally wasn’t buying it. I’m pretty sure she just smeared it all over him in the dark—either that, or she’d managed to kiss him everywhere except his lips. Kevin wasn’t about to say anything. All the guys were already giving him high-fives and fist-bumps.
“Your turn, Zoey.” Tammy thrust the bottle into my hands.
“I don’t know.” I started to hand it back. “I think my dad might come—”
"No backing out now." Tammy took the bottle and spun it for me. Around and around it went. With each spin my mind raced. Who would it point to? Was I seconds away from my first kiss? How could I get out of this?
Slowly the bottle rolled to a stop, pointing right at Justin Roberts. Tammy patted my leg excitedly. Someone squealed—it wasn’t me.
Most of the girls would have been thrilled to be in my shoes. Justin was one of the most popular kids in school. I wouldn’t have even had the guts to ask him to the party if it wasn’t for the fact that he went to my church.
Golden curly locks or not, I did not want to go into the closet with him. He had a reputation. Always talking about girls like they were video games—something to get the high score on.
I tried to protest, but before I knew it, I was in the closet standing across from Justin. Grandpa’s old suits lined both walls, like an army of hollow pinstriped soldiers.
He flashed me a cocky smile right as the light went out.
Standing there frozen, I had no idea what to do. A hand lightly touched my wrist, slithering its way up my arm. I batted it away, like it was a blood-sucking insect.
“Don’t be like that, Zoey. Relax, you’ll be the envy of every girl here.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, as the forgotten smell of Grandpa's sweet tobacco tickled my nose.
“Come on, don’t be a prude.”
He tried to put his arms around my waist.
“Stop that.”
Mere inches from my face came a puckering sound, like some old lday moistening up for a wet sloppy kiss. I stuck out both arms to keep him back. "Leave me alone."
"I know you don’t mean that. My brother told me all girls say no at least five or six times."
"Then your brother’s a pig too."
His hands clamped around my arms and pulled me in. "Just one little kiss."
It took all my strength to break free. Still he reached for me. I pushed him back against the suits. His fingers grasping at me—I pushed harder, my anger turning to fear. I could just barely see the tips of his fingers grabbing wildly at me. The arms and legs of the suits whipped about like they were clawing at him.
Regaining his balance, he stepped forward and grabbed my shirt. He couldn't stop me; I was overcome by a desperate desire to keep him away. I just kept pushing and pushing—deeper and deeper into Grandpa’s suits—like they went on forever. He released my shirt then gasped, choking as if being gagged.
A second later, the light popped on and Tammy threw open the door. "What are you two lovebirds—" she stopped.
Dozens of wide eyes, fixed right on me.
"Zoey, are you okay?" She stared into my eyes; she could see something was wrong.
Justin wasn’t standing. "Pig," I said under my breath, trying not to shake. I didn't even look down as I walked out.
"Where’s Justin?" Kevin’s voice wavered, like when he's called on in math class.
I turned around. In the closet, on the floor, was a pile of Grandpa’s suits. They lay in a mound, one on top of the other. Like football players in a dog-pile.
It didn’t look big enough for Justin to hide under.
Kevin dug in and started throwing suits aside. It only took a few seconds to realize—
Justin was gone.
* * * * *
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About
the Author
M.J.A. Ware, known as M.J. to his friends, lives in the
foothills of the Sierra Mountains with his wife and two daughters.
When
not writing about aliens, monsters and ghosts, he runs a company
where he designs award winning video arcades. He’s currently
polishing his latest novel,
Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb,
about friends who take on an army of the undead, armed with nothing
but Super Soakers—filled with zombie killing juice.