Jeff Strand - Dweller

Garrett seemed hesitant, but Toby nudged him. “Go ahead.”

“Owen, are you going to eat me?”

No.

“Owen,” said Toby, “are we best friends?”

Yes.

“And are you and Garrett going to be friends?”

Yes.

“And would you ever do anything to hurt Garrett?”

No.

“See, Garrett. He understands. Ask him something else.”

“Owen, is one plus one two?”

Owen didn’t respond.

“Smart-ass,” said Toby. “I didn’t teach him addition. Ask him a real question.”

“That was a real question!” Garrett insisted. “Owen, could you get loose if you wanted?”

No.

“Ask him his favorite food,” Toby urged.

“Owen, what’s your favorite food?”

Owen mimed scooping a spoon into a bowl.

“That means ice cream.”

“I like ice cream, too,” Garrett said. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

“He likes strawberry,” Toby said. “But I don’t think he much cares one way or another, as long as it’s ice cream. Sort of like your mom with pie.”

“I like mint chocolate chip,” Garrett told Owen. “There was one kind of mint chocolate chip that Daddy brought home one time that I didn’t like, but usually it’s my favorite.”

“Isn’t he cool?” Toby asked.

“He’s supercool. Does Mommy know?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She’d be scared.”

“But he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I know, but you can be scared of things that wouldn’t hurt you. You have to admit, it’s kind of weird to have a best friend who’s a monster in the woods, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re a couple of weirdos!”

“Yeah! Big weirdos!”

“Big weirdo dorks! But that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with being weird. Do you know anybody else who has a monster friend?”

“No way!”

“You think the kids at school would be jealous?”

“Yeah! I bet nobody would pick on me if they knew.”

“They sure wouldn’t. But you can’t tell them.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “I know. You’ve already told me a bazillion times.”

“So I’m telling you a bazillion and one times.”

“Can I touch him?”

“No.”

“Next time?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re going to bring me back again, right?”

“I sure am.” Toby gave his son a hug. “You’d better believe it.”

Garrett talked nonstop about his new monster friend as they walked home. Toby was absolutely elated-giddy, even. In fact, it was a good thing that he had to immediately turn back around to unfasten Owen’s chains, or Sarah might question his emotional state.

“You can go in and play Nintendo, or read a book,” Toby said.

“I’ll play Nintendo.”

“Or draw.”

“Nintendo.”

“Fine. Have fun.”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Toby asked, unfastening the collar around Owen’s neck.

Hurts.

“Yeah, it looks like it chafed a bit. I’m sorry, buddy. There’s nothing else I can do. You liked seeing Garrett, though, right?”

Loved it.

“Well, he loved you, too. When I’m dead and buried, you and he can hang out just like we do. If you didn’t have those damn hooks for fingernails we could bring out his handheld video game and you guys could play together.”

He unfastened the strap around Owen’s right wrist. The monster immediately began to lick the area.

“I know, I know, it hurts. Was it worth it?”

Yes.

“Good.”

Again?

“Yes. All the time now.”

“So what did you two do today?” asked Sarah, plopping a large spoonful of mashed potatoes onto Garrett’s dinner plate.

“Cool stuff.”

“Well, I know that! What kind of cool stuff?”

“It’s a secret.”

“A secret from your own mom? That’s not allowed!”

Garrett put a hand over his mouth and giggled.

Sarah gave him a mock-stern glare. “This is no He-Man Women Hater’s club, bucko. What trouble did you two get into?”

“Ummmmm. Dad showed me naked boobies.”

“What?”

“He’s kidding,” Toby said.

“Naked boooooobies in a magazine!”

“You’d better not have shown him anything like that,” Sarah told Toby.

“I would never expose our child to breasts. I don’t know what that little bozo is talking about. What are you talking about, bozo?”

“At school, Jimmy Wilson said that his dad had a stack of magazines with naked boobies, and he left them right in the bathroom.”

“Well, Jimmy Wilson’s dad is a pervert,” Toby said. “Naked boobies are evil. They should be banned.”

“What’s a pervert?”

“This is not appropriate dinner-table conversation,” said Sarah. “And naked boobs are not evil, they just shouldn’t be shown to an eight-year-old boy.”

“I didn’t show him any!”

“I know, but don’t talk about it.”

“The bozo brought it up!”

“I was just kidding,” said Garrett. “We went to look at some stupid moss.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry that the moss wasn’t as exciting as your video games, your highness.”

“It sure wasn’t.”

Toby kicked him under the table.

“I’m glad you were able to keep a secret,” said Toby as he tucked Garrett into bed. “But you really need to work on a better cover story.”

“Will Owen be okay out there by himself?”

“Yeah. Owen will be fine. He’s been out there for a long, long time.”

Visiting Owen had always been inconvenient because of the distance. It became much worse when Toby had to walk out there, chain him up (Owen never fought against the process but made his displeasure quite clear), go back home and get Garrett, walk to Owen’s place for the visit, walk Garrett back, return to the shack, unchain Owen, and walk back home. It was ridiculous.

By the fourth visit, he just made Toby wait for him a short but safe distance back. He’d been friends with the monster since the 1960s-Owen wasn’t going to suddenly jump out of nowhere, grab Garrett and run off.

“Can I pet him?” Garrett asked, as he’d asked on every previous visit.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you think?”

“But he wouldn’t do anything to me. You wouldn’t do anything bad, would you, Owen?”

No.

Toby chuckled. “Still not gonna happen.”

“Okay, we’re going to walk up to him very slowly. Don’t make any sudden moves. Think of him like a lion in a cage.”

“He could kill any lion.”

“Yes, he could. And he could rip a little boy’s head off as easy as snapping his fingers.”

Garrett grinned and snapped his fingers.

“We’re done. You’re not taking this seriously.”

“But Dad-!”

“I said we’re done.”

“He’s probably the most talented in the class,” said Mrs. Kingston. “Look at the detail on that. A lot of kids his age haven’t progressed beyond stick figures.”

“He’s always loved to draw,” said Sarah, beaming with pride.

Toby nodded. It was a wonderful, accurate drawing, and there was a little boy who was going to get a very stern lecture tonight.

“Part of keeping a secret involves not drawing pictures of Owen to turn in for a class project,” Toby explained.

“I didn’t tell anybody he was real.”

“I realize that, but it looks just like him. What if somebody asks you how you drew it so well?”

“They already did. I said I made him up. He’s a monster.”

“Right, but…do you think the president draws pictures of secret nuclear weapon stockpiles?” Toby could feel the logic of his argument slipping away. “Just don’t draw Owen any more, okay?”

“Okay.”