Ken Douglas - Nightwitch

Arty and Carolina held their breaths, as Arty saw the skinny kid in his mind, putting all his effort into the underhanded throw. He pictured a basketball thrown from mid court, a split second before the buzzer. He saw the ball as it reached the top of the arc, and could tell, like he could read the future, that it was going to make the basket.

He hugged Carolina in close as the bag smashed down on his back. He gasped and pulled in small, quick, silent breaths of foul air. From a distance, he heard the skinny kid from the deli laughing and saying they would leave the mess for the trash man to clean up.

“ Oh shit,” Arty whispered, “we gotta get out of here, right now.”

“ Something’s on my leg,” Carolina’s whisper was as close to a scream as a whisper could get. She started kicking, then Arty felt it scurry across his back.

“ Rat,” he said, wrapping his hands around her mouth to keep her from screaming.

“ I almost lost,” Tommy’s voice was fading and Arty took his hand away from her mouth.

“ I wasn’t going to scream,” she whispered.

“ We gotta get out of here,” he said again. He heard the rat burrowing away from them on the opposite of the trash bin.

“ I’m sorry I got scared,” she said. “I’m not afraid of the rat.” He could tell she was doing her best to be brave, but he could feel her shaking.

“ This is Friday,” he said.

“ So?”

“ Trash day.”

“ So?”

“ They pick up the dumpsters at night.”

“ Oh, no.”

“ Mr. Williams is gonna be by any minute,” and, like on cue, they heard the rumble of the trash truck maneuvering into the parking lot. He thrust his hand into the garbage, rummaging around for the shotgun as the truck lumbered and rumbled closer.

“ We go now!” She stood in the garbage. He was still looking for the gun when she had a leg over the side, by the time he found it she was on the ground.

“ I got it,” he said.

“ Hurry, Arty!”

He handed the gun over to her and jumped up, catching his stomach on the rim of the dumpster. Carolina jumped up and grabbed his belt, helping to pull him over and out of the dumpster.

He spun on his stomach as he went over the side, landing on his feet, caught in the headlights of the tank-like trash truck. He leaned against Carolina as she led him away from the giant metal trash can.

“ Hey, Arty,” Mr. Williams said, waving from the cab of the slow moving truck.

“ Hey, Willie.” Only Arty called him that. Mr. Williams was another of his early morning friends.

“ See you on the south side.”

“ Yeah,” Arty said, mustering enough energy to wave back.

“ South side?” Carolina asked.

“ I see him sometimes during my route. He does the south side of town on Monday.”

“ Oh,” she said, wiping food parts and coffee grinds from her clothes. “I think this sweater is ruined.”

“ I think so.” He watched her as he tried to wipe some slimy stuff off his sleeve.

“ It’s a good thing you remembered,” she said as the two extensions sticking out from the front of the giant truck thudded into place under the dumpster. They watched, holding their ears against the sound of banging metal, as the truck raised the dumpster in the air and turned it over, emptying its contents into the rest of the trash in back.

“ Bye, bye, Mr. Rat,” Arty said.

“ I hope he’s okay,” Carolina said.

“ I think he’s dead,” Arty said.

They continued watching as the truck dropped the dumpster back in place. Arty waved once more as Mr. Williams backed the truck out from behind the store, and they continued listening until the distant rumbling of the truck was only a memory.

“ For once I hope my mom’s not home,” she said, breaking the stony silence, “because I sure don’t want to tell her how come we look like this.” She was trying to wipe some of the same slimy stuff off of her skirt, and Arty was taking the wrapping off the shotgun. “Why are you doing that?”

“ There’s gooey wet stuff soaked into the paper. I don’t want to ruin the gun.” He continued pulling off the wrapping, tossing the newspaper and masking tape into the dumpster. He had no rags, so he wiped the gun off on a clean part of his shirt.

“ Hey, hey, it’s Farty Arty and his girlfriend.”

Arty and Carolina turned to face Brad Peters and Ray Harpine.

“ My dad’s looking for you two,” Ray said. “You guys are really in trouble.”

“ But not as much trouble as you’re in from me,” Brad said. “You were lucky, hitting me with the books when I wasn’t ready, but I’m ready now and you are dog meat.”

“ I’m not afraid of you anymore, Brad.” He handed the shotgun over to Carolina.

Both boys noticed the gesture and they noticed the gun.

“ So if you want a piece of me, come now, but if you do I’m gonna go for you every time I see you for the rest of your life. I’ll kick, bite, and scratch. You’ll never be able to turn away from me, ’cuz if you do I’ll smash you in the back of the head with my books. I’ll poke you with pencils. I’ll spit in your face. I’ll kick you in the butt when you’re not looking. I’ll fight you every morning on the way to school, every afternoon after school and every recess. You’ll have to have eyes in the back of your head till you’re dead.”

“ And I’ll pull on your hairs in class,” Carolina said, “and I’ll kick you in the balls every chance I get, and that goes for you, too, Ray Harpine. Shit, Ray, I think I’ll just shoot your balls off right now.” She leveled the gun and pointed it between his legs.

“ Gun’s not loaded,” Ray squeaked.

“ Your daddy wants to find us, ’cuz he knows it is,” she said, slipping into a sweet Southern accent.

“ It’s loaded,” Brad said.

“ How do you know?” Ray was still squeaking.

“ I can tell,” Brad said, then he turned to look at Arty. “Why do you need a loaded shotgun?”

“ You gonna let us pass?” Arty said.

“ Yeah,” Brad said, “I think you’re crazy, but I also think we’re pretty even. I won’t bother you no more.”

“ Okay,” Arty said.

“ So why you need a loaded shotgun?” Brad said again.

“ I got a witch to kill,” Arty said. “The shotgun’s loaded with silver dimes.”

“ Now I know you’re crazy,” Brad said, and the two boys stood aside and let them pass.

“ Stop,” Carolina said. They were coming around to the front of the store, when she thrust her arm out in front of him, bringing him to a quick halt. “That’s my father,” she said, pointing to a man that had just left the store.

She started to call out, but Arty squeezed her hand and she held her tongue. “We should follow him,” Arty said.

“ But it’s my father.”

“ How come he didn’t come right by your house and tell you he was in town? How come he shot off the gun in front of your house? How come he broke in and stole the gun back?”

“ We could ask him?”

“ Let’s follow him and ask him later,” Arty said.

She nodded and the two children followed the adult across the parking lot as a light fog started to roll in. Arty didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that Brad and Ray were following them, but he didn’t care.

He looked over at Carolina and saw Sheila poke her head out of the backpack and nuzzle her neck as she trudged along beside him. The man up front turned a corner. They had to pick up their speed if they didn’t want to lose him and Arty smiled as she automatically adjusted her pace to match his.

He was panting heavily. This wasn’t like his paper route where he could coast along with the cool breeze when he got tired out. The shotgun was getting heavier with each step, and he was beginning to think maybe they should have called the police and taken their chances. After all, what could two kids do against a witchwolf that can’t die?