Jeff Strand - Dweller

Garrett folded his arms over his chest. “I’m staying.”

“No, you’re not. And if you keep up that attitude, I won’t bring you back.”

“Then I’ll tell everyone.”

Toby simultaneously wanted to throttle his son, and double over and throw up. “What did you say?”

“I’ll tell.”

“You’ll tell, huh? You’ll break your promise to me? Your blood promise?”

“There wasn’t any blood.”

“You know what I mean. I know that you’re just kidding, that you wouldn’t really tell anybody, but it’s really horrible of you to say something like that, even when you’re mad. What do you think they’ll do to Owen if they find him?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’ll kill him. They’ll cut him apart and study him. Is that what you want to happen to your best friend?”

Garrett looked mortified. “No.”

“Then you need to apologize to him.”

“I’m sorry, Owen,” Garrett said in a very soft voice.

“And apologize to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not coming back for two weeks. And no Nintendo.”

1997. Age 52.

“Has Owen ever eaten anybody? Hey, Owen, have you ever eaten anybody?”

No.

“Would you ever eat anybody? I mean people.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Toby said. “Why would you even ask something like that?”

“If I were Owen, I’d eat people.”

“Well, that’s because you’re one disturbed little boy. Why would you eat people? Just people who were mean to you?”

Garrett shook his head. “I’d start with them, I guess. If I were a big monster like that, I wouldn’t just eat rabbits and squirrels and stuff.”

“He also eats deer.”

“Yeah, but I’d go for more challenging prey.”

“More challenging prey? What books have you been reading?”

“It’s this game I borrowed where you have to hunt humans because they’re the ultimate prey.”

“I’m so very happy to see that you’re basing your sense of morality on video games. Don’t talk to Owen about eating people. Ten-year-old boys aren’t supposed to be that sick. And you’re only talking to get out of work. C’mon, stop being a slacker.”

They were doing some desperately needed repairs on Owen’s shack, which they’d avoided during snowy season but which they could no longer justify postponing now that spring was here. Some of the wood had started to rot, and Toby had decided that even a creature in the forest deserved better accommodations than this.

The job basically involved ripping apart the far wall, a board at a time, and replacing each of the decaying boards with new wood. They’d started at the bottom and were about halfway up. Garrett’s enthusiasm for the project had waned after he pulled off a board and ants swarmed all over his hand, though fortunately none of them had stung him.

Garrett held up the new board, and Toby nailed it into place. Owen, who did not possess a skill set that would come in handy for this particular project, watched intently, as if playing supervisor.

Toby gave a gentle tug on the board. “Think it needs any more?”

Garrett pointed to a spot near the top center. “One more right there.”

“Yes, sir.” Toby hammered in one more nail. “You thirsty?”

“Yeah.”

“Coke or Seven Up?”

“Seven Up.” Garrett leaned against the wall, bracing himself with his right arm.

“You’ll get ants on your hand again.”

“There aren’t any here.”

“Don’t cry when you get stung.” Toby walked around to the front of the shack and removed the lid from the cooler. He fished through the ice for a moment. “Did you already drink all the Seven Up?” he called out.

“No.”

“What did you have before?”

“Seven Up.”

“Then you drank it all.”

Toby took out two Cokes. Garrett shrieked.

Immediately dropping the cans, Toby rushed back around the shack. Garrett’s arm had broken right through the wood. Still screaming, Garrett pulled his arm free from the jagged hole. It glistened with blood and a huge deep gash ran from wrist to elbow.

Owen scooped him up into his arms.

“Owen!” shouted Toby, hurrying forward. “Put him down!”

Garrett thrashed and screamed, but Owen held him tight.

He’s not gonna hurt him, Toby promised himself. He just wants to get him help. “Owen, give him to me, now.”

Owen looked down at the struggling boy, his eyes wide with concern.

Then he leaned down and ran his tongue over the wound.

Toby’s vision went blurry for a split second, then returned to sharp focus. “Owen!”

The monster held Toby’s son out to him. Toby grabbed him, and a sharp pain went through his back. He cursed and tried to adjust Garrett’s position so he could hold him better, then shook his head.

“I’m not going to be able to carry you,” he said, setting Garrett down onto his feet. He took his hand. “Come on, I’m going to get you to the hospital.”

They ran from the forest.

“What happened?” Sarah asked, hurrying outside as Toby led the sobbing boy across their backyard.

“He gouged up his arm pretty bad-he’ll be okay.”

Sarah ran over to them and crouched down in front of Garrett to inspect his arm. “Oh my God! Look how deep it is!”

“I know, I know, it’s bad. I’ll get him in the car. You go get Hannah.”

Toby led Garrett over to their car, opened the back door, and helped Garrett into the backseat. “You’ll be okay,” Toby promised. “It looks worse than it is.”

Garrett nodded silently. His face was frighteningly pale, and his breathing was rapid and uneven. Sarah came out of the house with towels and the first-aid kit. Toby got Hannah strapped into her child seat as Sarah squeezed into the back as well and pressed one of the towels tightly against Garrett’s arm.

“How did this happen?” Sarah asked, as they sped down the road.

“He was leaning against a piece of rotted wood, and it broke.”

“Why was he leaning against rotted wood?”

“We found this old shack out in the forest. Abandoned. It was my fault, we should have been more careful.”

Sarah pulled away the bloody towel and winced. “This is really bad, Toby. Drive faster.”

“I’m already doing eighty.” His heart hammered with panic. Garrett couldn’t possibly bleed to death before they got to the hospital, could he? No. The cut wasn’t that bad. He’d require a huge number of stitches, but this wasn’t a life-or-death situation. Kids got hurt. It happened.

“Garrett, talk to me, honey,” said Sarah. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“The doctor will make it all better.”

“Owen licked the blood.”

“What?”

“Owen, when he picked me up, he licked the blood.”

“Who’s Owen?”

“Our friend in the woods.”

Toby could barely focus on the road, but he tried to keep himself calm, even as he screamed Fuck! in his mind over and over.

“Toby, what’s he talking about?” Sarah demanded.

“Nothing-he’s delirious. It’ll all be okay, I promise.”

Garrett’s eyes closed.

Garrett said nothing about the monster in the forest as the doctor stitched up his wound. With the blood cleaned off, the gash didn’t look as…well, it still looked bad, but Toby’s mind had flashed through scenarios involving amputation.

Toby noted with grim humor that Garrett had been brave throughout the ghastly stitching process, but still cried when he had to get a tetanus shot “just in case.”

He’d have a nasty scar, but he could move his fingers fine and there was no permanent damage beyond the cosmetic. He’d be fine.