Jeff Strand - Dweller

And after about a week, he started to realize that he just might get away with it.

He’d been questioned once more, this time by the good cop working alone. It wasn’t much of an interrogation, just a couple of follow-up questions that didn’t even require Toby to lie. No, he hadn’t seen Larry or Nick in the past week. No, they hadn’t tried to get in touch.

It poured rain three days that week, almost as if the heavens were trying to help wash away the evidence.

Soon, Larry and Nick stopped being a daily topic of conversation at school. Though the MISSING signs with their pictures stayed up on telephone poles, the signs faded and weren’t replaced. Toby wanted to tear them down so he wouldn’t have to see them, but didn’t dare take the risk of somebody seeing him. A transfer student took Larry’s empty seat in economics class.

He still saw blood on his hands that wasn’t really there. But overall, it was a better world without those bullies.

“What are you drawing?” asked J.D.

Toby shrugged. “Nothing.”

J.D. reached across the table and snatched Toby’s notebook. “Ooooh, a big scary monster! That’s what I used to draw when I was in first grade, too! Hey, Elizabeth, check this out…”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know I can’t get out here every day. It’s not my fault you don’t have any other friends. If you’d get out of the cave once in a while, you might get to socialize more often, you know? Meet a nice elk or something, get some interspecies lovin’ going on. Where’s your Owenetta?”

Owen patted his belly.

“You ate her? Really? That’s pretty darn rude. You’re not supposed to eat your mate, unless maybe you’re a black widow or something.”

Owen patted his belly again, more insistently this time.

“Okay, okay, I was only kidding. Jeez. I know you’re hungry. And today I’ve got a special surprise for you.” Toby tapped his foot on the blue cooler. “You’d better like it, because this ice was heavy.”

He took the lid off the cooler, pushed aside some of the ice cubes, and pulled out the carton of ice cream. “This is Neapolitan,” he explained, “so you get chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry all at once. You’ll love it.”

Owen reached for the carton. Toby slapped his hand away. “Not yet. We’ve got to do this right.” He took a pair of ice-cream cones out of his backpack. “All right, one of them broke, but since I’m such a nice person I’ll give you the unbroken one.” He dug around until he found the metal scoop, then opened the carton. Owen growled.

“Have a little patience. Good things come to those who wait. How many monsters in the woods do you think have people bringing them ice cream? Not many. You are a fortunate soul, Owen, and when you taste this delicious treat, all of your problems are going to fade away.”

It was jacket weather, but no snow had fallen yet, and even in the cooler, the ice cream was starting to melt. It was easy to get out a nice big scoop. Toby made sure he got all three flavors, and then plopped it onto the cone.

“Here you go, sir,” he said, handing the cone to Owen. “Don’t eat it too fast or you’ll get a headache.”

Toby was somewhat less than surprised when Owen popped the entire cone into his mouth. Owen’s eyes widened, as much as his sunken eyes were capable of widening, and then he gave Toby an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign.

“Yeah, it’s good stuff, isn’t it?” asked Toby. “It’s better if you savor it, though.”

He prepared himself a cone, just strawberry, and slowly licked it. “See? Lick. It’s way better like this, and it lasts more than a third of a second.”

Owen made a grab for Toby’s cone, but he held it behind his back. “No. There’s more, but you have to wait until I’m done with mine. You know that.”

Owen patted his belly.

“Seriously, you need to chill out about this whole food thing. I’m hungry, too, but you don’t see me trying to shove you around to get fed. We need to develop your gourmet tastes. Any animal can just shovel food into its mouth. You should learn to appreciate fine cuisine. Like this ice-cream cone.” He turned it in a slow circle as he licked.

Owen watched him carefully, not taking his eyes off the cone.

“Stick your tongue out,” Toby said, sticking his tongue out as far as he could.

Owen continued to stare at the ice cream.

“Come on, do it,” Toby urged, his words garbled because his tongue was sticking out. He waggled his tongue and pointed at it with his free hand. “Let’s see that tongue!”

Owen tilted his head a bit, and then stuck out his tongue.

“Good job!” said Toby. He handed his ice-cream cone to Owen, who tossed the entire thing into his mouth.

Toby prepared himself another ice-cream cone. “Lick,” he said. “Just lick. Savor the smooth, creamy goodness.” He slowly licked the ice cream. “Like this. See how I’m doing it?”

Owen moved his tongue in a licking motion.

“That’s right! You’ve got it!” He gave Owen this ice-cream cone as well. “Now remember: lick.”

Owen ate the entire cone in one bite.

After one more try, Toby gave up and just let Owen eat the rest of the ice cream directly from the carton.

“Wow, this is really gross,” said Toby, trying to pull a comb through Owen’s thick, matted hair. “You’ve got bugs in here. Did you know that? Bugs. How can you not be constantly itching? This would drive me crazy.”

It took all afternoon to get Owen’s arms into decent shape, and Toby wasn’t sure that he was ever going to get the tangles out of the monster’s back. “I think that once we get this done the first time, it won’t be that tough to keep it up,” he said. “But right now I’m thinking we should just shave you.”

Owen continued his semi-purring. He clearly enjoyed the process, except for the moments where the comb tugged his hair too hard.

“By the way, I’ve told you this before, lots of times, but your aroma isn’t everything it could be. It’s a level of reek you don’t usually get from things that are still alive. Next time I may bring some shampoo. And some mouthwash. That might take care of your romantic problems, don’t you think? There’s nothing that can be done for me, but I think an Owen that doesn’t stink to high heaven might attract the lady monsters. We’ll see.”

The comb caught on a particularly gnarled section of fur, but Toby carefully and patiently worked the teeth through until the knot was gone.

“‘The bullets tore through the side of the armored car like it was tissue paper,’” said Toby, reading aloud from the thin paperback. “‘The driver flopped over, bleeding from three different head wounds. Outside of the now out-of-control vehicle, the hostages screamed as it hurtled toward them, tires squealing.’”

Toby was sure that Owen didn’t understand the plot, but he seemed to enjoy being read to, particularly when Toby laced the reading with sound effects. He mimicked the sound of an armored car plowing into a crowd of six tied-up hostages.

They made up lots of new games. Owen had trouble understanding most of the rules, but even something generic like Twenty Questions was a lot more interesting when playing it with a hideous monster. Tag was a little too dangerous and was discontinued after one session.

“Let’s try it again. Owen. Owe-wen. Say it.”

Owen silently stared at him.

“C’mon, you can do it. Owen. Oooowwwwen. Say your name.”

Owen contorted his mouth and made a low, growly noise that sounded nothing like his name.

Toby gave him a thumbs-down sign. “You’re not getting it. Owen. Just start with ‘Owe.’ Owe.”