Brian Keene - Ghoul

After the worst of the pain had subsided, Barry turned off the light and tiptoed back out into the hall. He peeked in on his mother.

She lay on her back, mouth open, snoring softly. He felt the urge to go to her, to kiss her forehead and tell her he was sorry, but he squashed it down. Pulling her bedroom door shut behind him, he made his way back to his room and rummaged through the closet until he found his book bag. His bare foot came down on a Star Wars action figureGreedo, complete with blasterand he bit his lip to keep from hollering, which hurt him even more. Fresh blood flowed. He wadded a tissue against it. Barry slipped on his shoes and went into the kitchen. He began gathering items he' d need. The combination can and bottle opener from the utensil drawer, along with a single fork, knife, and spoon. Then he raided the cupboard. He stuffed his backpack with potato chips, Twinkies, Hershey ' s kisses, and Fruit RollUps, along with canned goods

peas, corn, baked beans, succotash, tuna fish, sauerkraut, Vienna sausagesand some Ritz crackers. He tested the weight and was surprised to find that the backpack was still relatively light. He added some more Twinkies, then closed the cupboard door and moved on to the fruit bowl, which was sitting out on the counter. He selected a few small apples and dropped them into the book bag. He avoided any of the citrus fruit, worried that it might go bad before he had a chance to eat it.

Finished with scavenging the kitchen, he moved on to the living room. It was littered with empty beer cans, dirty coffee mugs and overflowing ashtrays. His mother had never been much of a housekeeper, and it had only gotten worse as his father got worse. Barry found just over ten dollars in quarters, dimes, and nickels in the large dolphinshaped ceramic ashtray his parents used to hold loose change. He remembered the day they 'd bought the souvenir, during a family trip to the National Aquarium in Baltimore. He' d had a good time. Thought the day might turn out okay. Then, on the way home, his father had backhanded him for talking while he was trying to drive. Frowning at the memory, Barry dropped the coins into his pockets. His jeans sagged a bit from the weight. His parents wouldn 't miss the money. Lately, his father had seemed to have more cash than usual. After seeing Dane Graco's Freemason' s ring on his father 's hand tonight, Barry suspected he knew how his father had gained these new riches. Grave robbing.

Barry returned to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. He opened his Baltimore Orioles bank and dumped out his life savingstwentytwo dollars and ten cents

then added the bills to his pockets. Combined with the money he'd stolen from the living room, he assumed he' d have enough to live off of for a while. If money and food ran out, it was summer, and he could always eat by raiding people ' s gardens at night. He debated on whether or not to bring his fishing pole, but decided it would be too cumbersome. He also grabbed his flashlight, a pocketknife, his BB pistol, extra COj cartridges and BBs for the pistol, and his jean jacket from the closet. It was warm outside, but he didn ' t know where he was going, and he might need it sooner or later. Plus, he could use the jacket as a pillow or blanket. He tied the jacket around his waist and stuffed the pistol behind his back, making sure it was snug inside his waistband. Then he dropped the other items into his book bag. Finally, he opened his dresser drawers and grabbed several pairs of underwear, socks, shirts, and another ' pair of jeans, and crammed those into the book bag as well. Stuffed to the brim, the bag 's fabric bulged at the seams, and he had a hard time zipping it shut. When he slipped the straps over his bruised shoulders, the extra weight pulled at him, magnifying his pain all over again.

He patted his jingling pockets and glanced around his bedroom, trying to decide if there was anything else he was forgetting. Barry wondered if he should feel sad or nostalgic. After all, this was the last time he 's see his room and all of his stuff. But he didn't feel sad. He didn' t feel anything, other than an urgency to leave. The stuff was just that

stuff. Bought for him by two parents who smiled when they handed it to him, despite the nightmares that would follow. None of it meant anything to him. Shaking his head, he closed the door behind him.

He left no note. He had no goodbyes to say.

Except for two.

He couldn' t run away without saying goodbye to Timmy and Doug. They were his best friends, the only good things that had ever happened to him. What had happened today, out behind the shed, had broken his heart. He had to see them one more time. Taking as deep a breath as he could without hurting his sides, Barry crept to the front door and slipped outside. There was no need to go out his bedroom window, the way he usually did when he snuck out at night. His father was gone, his mother was passed out, and he was in too much pain to crawl through the window, anyway.

A chorus of crickets greeted him. The stars sparkled overhead, and the yard was bathed in moonlight. The church loomed across the streetdark, gloomy and menacing. Beyond it, the cemetery sprawled out into the darkness.

Barry wondered if his father was in there somewhere, beyond the shadows, even now looting another grave as he 'd done with Timmy's grandfather's. Barry thought it over. Dane Graco had been buried with the ring on his finger. He'd seen it before they closed the casket. The funeral procession went out into the graveyard. The casket was lowered into the ground. The mourners tossed in flowers and the first few handfuls of dirt. Everybody left. Barry and his father had gone home, changed clothes, and then returned to fill in the grave. They ' d been together the whole time, so there was no way his dad could have stolen the ring then. His father had been in a hurry to leave. He remembered thinking it was as if the old man didn ' t want to be in the graveyard after dark. But maybe it had been something else. Maybe he ' d just been anxious for the sun to go down, eager for night to fall, so that he could dig Timmy 's grandfather back up under the cover of darkness. Barry had noticed other trinkets and baublesnew jewelry, much to his mother' s delight, and the extra cash in his father 's pockets. Now he knew where it was all coming from.

The thought filled him with dread. It was horrible. Sick. But so was his father.

All he had to do was look in the mirror to see the proof of that.

"Good riddance," he whispered. His busted lip throbbed. Barry winced. He walked through his backyard and started down over the hill to Timmy's house. The lights were out, but he figured he'd just knock on Timmy' s window and wake him. He went slowly, his body still aching. He pulled the bloody tissue from his lip and tossed it onto the ground. He readjusted the book bag so that his bruised shoulders wouldn 't chafe more from the straps. He was carrying a lot of weight.

But the heaviest burden of all lay behind him.

Barry did not turn around.

He smiled again, and this time, it didn't hurt as much.

Timmy lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His alarm clock said it was a quarter till three in the morning, and he still couldn' t sleep. His father had finally gone to bed about an hour ago, after sitting in the living room by himself, crying his eyes out. Timmy had heard him through the walls, weeping and talking to God, but he hadn' t cared. Let his father cry. Timmy was finally out of tears. He ' d shed enough. He would shed no more. He was emotionally spent. Nothing mattered now. His grandfather 's death, Katie Moore, Pat's body, what had happened to the others, the ghoul, Mr.

Smeltzer, Barry and Doug's problemsall seemed to pale in comparison to what had happened down in the basement that evening.