|
“Ok,
Unca Benny, maybe we shouldn’t a tried to use our knives on that Jeffy kid.”
“But
he just wouldn’t hush.”
“Just
kept on a screamin and a screamin!”
“Yeah-”
“Shut
up.”
Coming
into the house, Benny groaned with relief at having escaped the twin horrors his
crazed aunt and uncle had taken in.
Benny
stared numbly at the sofa. Rest his feet or eat?
So
they saw Leda making a sacrifice? Big hairy deal. Leda was always messing around
at the ‘Stone, burning this, knifing up that. Benny paused. The girls said the
spirit looked like a rattler, not like the Mahiwak Bu:u . . . .
His
stomach rumbled and as if by magic he forgot having to walk the last five miles
home. Huh. Jeff-the-jerk deserved it. And it was doubtful he’d need stitches.
Well, maybe not too many. And who knows? Benny snickered. With the help of a few
good shrinks he might get over it. Some day. But Benny doubted it. The Twins
were too good at what they did best: Survival.
Tossing
his empty saddle bag on the sofa, he walked to the refrigerator.
The
door swung open and he stared at all stuff his mother ate.
Lettuce,
his face twisted. Cabbage, he held his nose. Carrots, he pretended to gag.
Celery, Benny shuddered.
Some
left-overs . . . Benny sniffed and nearly keeled over in hunger. Hey, it was his
breakfast. He grinned and snatched it out, kicked the door shut and shredded the
steak between his teeth. What Anna laughingly referred to as the wolf in his
stomach settled in to digest the offering with happy gurgling noises. One thing
his stomach would never get used to was the vegetarian grub. National law
demanded any school taking federal money not serve meat.
“Mmp,
excellent,” he mumbled through a full mouth. Just perfect. Black on the
outside, still mooing in the middle, with strips of chili peppers and pieces of
garlic stuffed into knife holes across the top.
Mouth
scorching pleasantly, Benny dumped the potatoes in the slop bucket outside the
back door for Mutt, a rangy, randy nondescript moocher that was rarely at home
anyway. If Muttly didn’t get his, probably some bear would. At least with the
bear they would get a return. Bear was eatable, dog-meat was forbidden except
for people like Leda. He threw open the refrigerator door again. Taking out a
gallon of ice cold milk, he chugged until he got a headache.
Belching
loudly, he gasp, “Ahhh,” and
grinned at the jug. A whole quart this time! Thank God he worked for Uncle
Charlie, or he wouldn’t be able to do this.
Popping
the jug back in the ‘fridge, he eyed the vegetables and shook his head.
“Gross.”
Mom
worked that old greenhouse to the max. She had stuff coming out and going in all
the time at the same time. One of these days the tax man was gonna get brave
enough to come down and inspect, and then she was gonna be in the deep end.
They
had three chest type freezers, and she wanted to put in one big walk-in. All of
them were stuffed with beef, pork, chicken, turkey, and mostly speed beef that
Carl took in Uncle Charlie’s fields, preferably in the dead of night and with
a minimum of spot lights. You name it. If aardvarks lived around here, Benny
thought glumly, you know she’d find a recipe and they’d eat it.
Apple
and pear season were almost over. Benny groaned, and almost slapped himself on
the head. He winced anyway. Black walnuts! A week of stained fingers and broken
backs, then mashed stained fingers until every last nut Mom could steal off the
squirrels was cracked and frozen. Because Aunt Mara had to work for a man, Mom
canned and froze and preserved for two families.
Still,
his mouth watered at the thought of Black Walnut cake, black walnut cookies, and
so on. It did make it all worth it . . . kind of. At least him and Toddy got to
tool around in the woods all day without the Twins from Hell tagging along. They
had to watch the babies.
Benny
scratched his head in puzzlement. You know, there were some things Aunt Mara
wasn’t too bright about.
In
the chilling air of the unheated loft, Benny sweated and tossed on the narrow
cot. He cried out, the words faint and child-like. His chest hurt, it burned.
Wisps of smoke seeped from the scars. The odor of charred flesh stung his
nostrils. Whimpering in the throes of that which crept from the dark hell of the
past, he threw the covers off and stretched his naked body spread eagle on the
bed.
Benny
hiccuped.
Old
man Grey smiled gently.
Hello,
Benny. How are you? Cold? Be patient, my boy. It will soon be over.
Benny
shivered from the cold and the terror. He saw the near love in his
grandfather’s chilling blue eyes and knew better than to relax.
Grandmother
Grey lied, Mr. Grey did love him. He did.
The
blade twisted and hissed in Grey’s age-spotted hands.
He
raised it, his words whipped away by an increasing wind.
Slowly
the blade descended. The razor sharp tip brushed the thin chest, carving the
symbol of the Mahiwak-Bu:u.
Benny
tried to scream, to shriek at the searing of his flesh. A gag of ancient human
skin blocked his shrill wails.
The
blade shuddered, tried of its own will to force the hands to release it.
Grey
raised the skean-dubh.
He
whispered. The blood blackened knife eased down.
Benny
choked, drowning on his own saliva. He whimpered.
The
Mark of the Beast was added to the Mark of the Owl. A fiery pentagram hissed its
way through Benny’s narrow chest.
Yes,
the old man shouted.
My
son, my Ben will live again.
He
raised the knife for the third and final stroke that would rip Benny’s heart
in two, that would enslave his soul and flesh forever.
Out
of the shadows of thickly falling snow came a man Benny had heard of all his
life but had never met.
Months
before Benny had been born the man fell into the hands of a pack of insurgents
in the hills of western Brazil. He had been tortured until little was left of
his body but ground flesh and crushed bone.
The
morning was raw, a chill wind cut through the worn blue denim of the jacket that
had been his dad’s. Benny shivered and ducked against a sleeting mist. Already
he was covered by a shattered layer of thin ice and was only half of the way to
the cross-roads and his bus stop. Saddle bag thrown over his left shoulder,
Benny trudged on, head down, into the storm, listening to the crunch of his
boots on the iced-over gravel of the road.
The
tiny cemetery beckoned him. Benny sagged to a halt, his eyes dulling and sad. He
stared at the unadorned chunk of red rock that marked his father’s grave.
Benny crouched next to the stone, a hand on it to steady himself.
Eyes
hazing and misted, Benny scrubbed the shameful tears away. Dad was a hero. Grim,
Benny nodded.
“I’ll
make you proud of me,” Benny said, the words harsh with shame. “I swear it,
some day I will. I love you, Dad.”
The
sleet changed to a mild snowfall, the flakes the size of Clinton half dollars.
Chilled
by more than sleet and wind, Benny shivered. His gaze darted to the grove of
hemlocks.
“You
were there, Leda,” he whispered. “You seen it too.”
It
was like this, the snow, the cold. On Benny’s chest the signs old man carved
by Grey hissed and burned.
A
few more weeks would mark the anniversary over old man Grey’s attempt on his
life.
Benny
laughed soundlessly. It would also mark old man Grey’s death. And he, on
October thirty-first, that very day, would be sixteen!
Yo,
like Carl said, Everybody got to have a hobby.
The
snow came a little thicker. A harsh laugh rang out. He glanced up.
Leda.
His
face twisted and darkened. Benny hiccuped. He scowled at her, and she waved,
motioning for Benny to come into her rundown shack. On legs that shook, he was
drawn towards her.
He
spat in her direction.
Flames
shot through his chest. The occult scars flared, scorched flesh choked his
nostrils. Benny clutched at his chest and fell to his knees in the mud and snow
of the gravel road.
Todd
raced to Benny. He crouched, watched Benny’s face for signs of life. Seeing a
slight whisper of breath ease into the cold air, Todd gusted a relieved laugh.
He
took Benny’s arm.
Benny
shook off Todd’s hands and shoved himself up. “I ain’t a friggin fairy,”
he said gruffly.
Todd
snapped, “You needed help-”
Benny
twisted the upper half of his body, hand open, and the callused edge stopped
inches from Todd’s quivering adams apple.
Frozen,
all Benny could do was stare in shock at his cousin, his face shadowed.
With
a calm he did not feel, Todd reached down and picked up the saddle bag. He wiped
the red and tan mud from the embossed leather.
“It’s
cool, bro.” He gripped Benny’s shoulder. “It’s cool, Benny. She can’t
hurt you anymore.” Todd smiled and whispered, “Do:hi:yi,
dn:V:tli. Go to the quiet place, brother.”
Slowly
his face lost the terror, the blood-lust and the haunted look.
Benny
nodded. He grasp the saddle bag and threw an arm around Todd’s shoulders. The
fire still raged, scorched into his soul forever, but the peace that radiated
from his cousin seeped over Benny like warm oil, soft and cleansing.
Todd
squint at Benny. “You ain’t gonna kiss me, are you?”
Benny
snorted and his eyes narrowed slyly.
He
stumbled, his arm dropping to his side.
Leda,
she was still on her porch. Her eyes were pale, cold on Todd, like chips of
brown ice.
Brown
ice? He snorted a laugh.
Throwing
Leda his best cat-house grin, Benny sauntered down to the cross roads where the
twins were giggling and cooing over something dead on the road.
The
raven peered over the edge of his nest, muttering softly at Benny.
The
bus wound through miles of narrow, badly maintained roads. Benny stared out the
window, seeing none of it. He rubbed his chest and grimaced.
What
a pig. Leda had been there. She wanted shon:gili
power, but none of the responsibilities of the priesthood, so she had trained
under old man Grey. Carl said she hated Anna because old man Grey had wanted
Leda to marry Dad.
Man,
but she loved it all.
“God,”
Benny croaked, he rubbed his face and shivered. Then his face became like stone,
his eyes narrow in self-hate. He had slipped. It didn’t happen often, but once
in a while he did.
Show
no emotion, or the yan:ki
will make you suffer. It was true in and out of the reformatory.
You
live and then you die. That was all there was to life.
And
some live again.
Daddy?
Was it really you who died because of me on the ‘Stone?
“You
comin?”
Benny
stiffened in shock. He stared at his cousin, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.” He
glanced out the window. A bleak October sky shadowed a bleaker parking lot. They
were already at Crestwood High.
“Got
one ready for me?” he ask Todd in a low voice, and glanced around for a
teacher. None in sight, nor any of their snitches.
“Yeah.
Need a match?”
He
nodded and Todd handed him a blue-tipped kitchen match – a barn-burner - along
with the hand-rolled cigarette.
Todd
shoved the sack of tobacco at Benny.
Shaking
his head, Benny stuffed it in Todd’s pants pocket.
“Man,
you hang on to it for me, OK? You know they won’t arrest you or nothing if you
get caught with the tobacco. Me, they’d crucify. And so would Mom.”
Todd
rolled his eyes at the Aga:Veil and sighed. His Warrior-Guardian laughed and
slapped Todd on the back.
Benny
felt like the day, not good, not bad.
He
went to his first class and made it through OK. In his second he dozed and the
teacher ignored him.
On
his way to his third class, Auto Shop,
yeah! he spotted Donald, and ducked into a lavatory.
A
crowd of teens shoved in. They surged around Benny and instantly the air
thickened with cigarette smoke.
Donald
shoved up to Benny, an unlit smoke dangled from his mouth.
“Got
a light, breed?” He glanced around and snickered.
Benny
shook his head.
“Maybe
you better find one, Grey,” Donald suggested and popped Benny lightly in the
chest.
The
fire inside rekindled, Benny choked and gasp for air.
“I
told you -”
Donald
nodded at his team-mates. They crowded around Benny in a grinning pack. Eyes
bright, Donald smirked. “I didn’t hear you, man. I’ll let it slide. This
time, anyway. But from now on, you better have a light for me.” He pulled a
golden lighter out of his pocket and thrust it at Benny.
“Light
me.”
Benny
stared at it. It was warm from Donald’s body heat, lovingly polished until the
embossed brass glowed. Embedded in the side was a small black swastika, the
rounded one that resembled the recycling sign. He snapped it on and studied the
blue flame.
Eyes
round, emotionless, Benny gave the husky teen a polite smile. Holding up the
lighter, he cocked his head to one side.
“Sure
you want to do this, Donny?”
Donald
scowled at Benny. The cigarette shook ever so slightly in his mouth. Benny’s
smile grew a little, his eyes became a little rounder, a little more wolf-like,
the blue darkening to the black and smoky gray of storm clouds just before the
lightening strikes. Power.
With
a growl, Donald slapped the lighter from Benny’s hand and lunged at Benny. His
friends caught him, dragging him back.
One
of them pulled out a lighter and stuck the flame under Donald’s cigarette.
He
took a puff, then nodded at Benny.
“Pick
it up, ‘breed, and polish it off.”
Benny
showed his teeth, his face bland, unchanged.
Donald
frowned. He shifted, his gaze moving from Benny’s face to his team-mates and
snapping back to Benny.
“Get
it.” Donald felt his skin burning. Clenched fists trembled with outrage.
“Get
it yourself.”
Donald
sighed, trying to appear as patient and forgiving as his father when dealing
with recalcitrant Party laborers. It would be murder, but the ‘breed wasn’t
going to obey him.
“All
your fault, Grey.” He smiled, shrugged, and lunged.
©2002 StoriesByEmail.com
|
