FANGBOY

By Jeff Strand

Fangboy copyright 2011 by Jeff Strand

Cover design by Zach McCain http://www.ZachMcCain.com

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.

For more information about the author, visit http://www.JeffStrand.com

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Fangboy is not a children’s book, but it’s sort of inspired by the books I loved as a kid. So I’m dedicating it to the following authors (who would probably rather not be associated with this novel, even if they’re deceased):

Beverly Cleary

Judy Blume

Helen Hill & Violet Maxwell

Donald J. Sobal

Mary Stolz

John Dennis Fitzgerald

ONE

Though the story is probably apocryphal, it is said that Fangboy twisted around in the womb and emerged from his mother mouth-first, with his glistening sharp teeth the first sight of him to greet the world. Neighbors did indeed report a horrified scream from the midwife, who ran out into the front yard shouting something barely intelligible that might have been "The devil is here! The devil is here!" But when speaking of this incident years later, at least two of the neighbors insisted that the midwife clawed her own eyes out in an attempt to un-see what she had witnessed, which is incorrect and easily verified, so it's entirely possible that the baby came out in the standard manner.

What is certain is that Nathan Pepper was born with a mouth full of long, pointed teeth. Apart from that, he was an ordinary baby: exactly twenty inches long, eight pounds and three ounces in weight, with beautiful blue eyes and a few thin strands of black hair.

His mother, Ellen, cooed and cradled the newborn against her chest, while her husband Samuel trembled and wondered if he had fathered an abomination. What kind of child was born with teeth at all, much less these ghastly pointed ones? If Samuel weren't so certain of his wife's immediate attachment to their new son, he might have taken the boy out behind the house and quickly done away with him, but Ellen seemed to take no notice of the abnormality, and Samuel pretended to agree that he was the most adorable baby ever conceived.

Not much later, though, she did acknowledge the teeth. "It is strange," she said, peering into Nathan's mouth as he cried. "Has there been anything like this on your side of the family?"

"God, no."

"Hmmm. It's nothing that I expected, that's for sure. I don't think I'll be breastfeeding him."

"So...do you think..." Samuel trailed off, not quite certain how to phrase this. "Should we...you know...keep it?"

Ellen gaped at him. "What are you saying?"

"We don't even know if it's human."

"Of course he's human! You saw him pop right out of me, and I'm certainly human. Don't you dare refer to him as 'it' ever again. We can't possibly be the first parents this has ever happened to. Children are born with physical quirks all the time. Do you remember my second cousin, Lizzie?"

"Vaguely."

"She has six toes on her right foot."

"Really?" Samuel seemed to recall that one of Lizzie's shoes was larger than the other, but he hadn't considered that there might have been a sixth toe under there. "Why didn't they just cut the extra one off?"

"Because you don't do that sort of thing. And we're definitely not going to pluck our son's teeth out." She glared at Samuel and gently ran her fingers over Nathan's head. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll take care of you forever."

That evening, the doctor arrived. Dr. Thompson, the only physician in the village of Hammer's Lost, was a portly and jolly man who always said, "You can't rush medical care." Though many of his patients debated this concept, they did concede that nobody had ever died while waiting for Dr. Thompson to make a house call.

"Oh, he's a handsome little fellow," said the doctor, giving Nathan an affectionate tap on the nose. "Sometimes even with attractive parents such as yourselves the baby doesn't come out looking as good as it might, so well done."

"Thank you," said Ellen.

Nathan yawned, exposing his teeth.

Dr. Thompson's first reaction was to flinch in shock, a reaction of which he was not proud. He tried to present a completely professional front whenever he was with a patient, and it was unseemly for a physician to flinch at a deformity.

His second thought was that it was a joke; that Samuel and Ellen had outfitted their newborn with a set of false teeth to startle him and amuse themselves. Dr. Thompson did not approve of this at all. Not because he objected to being the butt of a gag--he could laugh as well as the next man--but because it presented a choking hazard for the infant.

But the new parents did not so much as crack a smile. In fact, Samuel looked more serious and grim than Dr. Thompson had ever seen him. Which led to his third thought: cross-breeding. Somehow the genetic material of a piranha had been combined with a human, resulting in the disconcerting sight before him.

He quickly rejected the third thought and moved on to the fourth, which was that he'd merely imagined it. But, no, the baby's mouth was still open, and it was still full of sharp teeth. Dr. Thompson had no fifth thought on the matter, and thus resorted to speaking.

"Hmmmm," he said.

"Have you ever seen such a thing?" Samuel asked. "I mean, is that a known medical condition?"

Dr. Thompson shook his head. He touched one of the teeth with his index finger--gently but quickly, as if the baby might try to bite it off. The teeth were larger than those of an adult and V-shaped. They were like something out of a terrifying nightmare from which you would awaken screaming and drenched in cold sweat, though Dr. Thompson felt it best not to phrase his opinion in quite that manner.

"I'm not going to lie to you," he said. "It is the least typical infant mouth I've ever seen."

"Is it dangerous?" asked Ellen.

"It certainly could be. Have you ever accidentally bitten your tongue? It hurts, doesn't it? Well, imagine biting your tongue with teeth like those. Unpleasant."

Ellen cringed.

"As far as danger to others," Dr. Thompson continued, "do I think he'll try to take a bite out of your neck? No. That doesn't mean you shouldn't exercise caution when you're burping him, but I see no reason to live in fear of your son."

"Can they be fixed?" Samuel asked.

"I'm no dentist," Dr. Thompson admitted, although that hadn't stopped him from practicing dentistry on six different occasions in the past. "I will say from experience that it's much easier to sharpen teeth than to un-sharpen them. They could all be capped, I suppose, but it would be an expensive procedure."

"What about simply removing them?"

"Samuel!" Ellen held the baby closer, as if her husband might try to snatch their child out of her hands. "We're not going to pull out his teeth! He was born this way for a reason."

"To instill terror?"

"I don't love him any less, and you're not going to, either. We're going to raise him just as we'd planned. Maybe with a small adjustment or two, obviously, but he's going to live a normal life."

Samuel turned to Dr. Thompson. "You'd mentioned his tongue. What if he does bite it off? We could have a child with scary teeth and no tongue. He won't be able to speak; he'll just make moaning sounds, which will do nothing to dispel the idea that he's a monster! I'm not suggesting that we pick up a rock and start knocking them out, but there must be some kind of delicate surgery that can be performed."

Dr. Thompson furrowed his brow. Logically, he agreed with Samuel. The boy couldn't possibly have a normal childhood with teeth like that. On the other hand, Dr. Thompson had learned that it was always best to side with brand-new mothers in all issues involving anything of any type.

"Oh, little Nathan will be fine," Dr. Thompson said, packing away his stethoscope. "It's the way of the world for new parents to worry, but I very much doubt that he'll be a danger to himself or those around him. If you have any problems, just give me a call."

He did not leave quickly, but neither did he dawdle.

As Dr. Thompson drove home, he wondered if this might be an opportunity to get himself into one of the reputable medical journals. He could monitor the progress of the Boy With Creature Teeth, write up his observations, and finally earn the jealousy of his peers.

But would that be exploitive?

Yes, probably.

Dr. Thompson liked to drink, smoke, gamble, and indulge in the pleasures of women without emotional involvement and without sharing news of these encounters with his wife. He also took naps at inappropriate times, engaged in the occasional bit of minor fraud, and once, back in his youth, there'd been a regrettable instance of cold-blooded murder. But to exploit an innocent baby, even for "science," just felt wrong to him. Not to mention that--at least by the usual standards for the medical profession--he was an extremely lazy man. A full study of a medical marvel seemed like a lot of work.

So instead he drove to his second-favorite bar, had a few beers, played a game of darts, and then went to treat Mrs. Preston's infected leg.

Meanwhile, Samuel was conflicted. It was, after all, his own flesh and blood. You weren't supposed to be repulsed by your own son. And the way the child now slept, with his mouth mercifully closed, Samuel almost felt the stirrings of parental adoration that he should have been feeling since the moment of birth.

"You're right," he told Ellen. "He is a beautiful child. And for as long as we live, nobody will ever hurt him."

Samuel decided that he wasn't going to take any action. Maybe the teeth would fall out on their own overnight.

* * *

The teeth did not fall out on their own, but nor had they grown larger during the night. This was a great relief to Samuel, since he had dreamt of peering into the crib to see Nathan's head elongated to six times its previous size to accommodate his rapidly growing teeth. Compared to that, the reality of the situation wasn't so bad.

By the end of the day, though he couldn't honestly say that he was used to the teeth, the sight of them no longer horrified him. Nathan seemed to be healthy and happy. While Samuel had no plans to impregnate his wife a second time, for fear of what might come out next (antennae?), he made peace with the appearance of his current child.

"What should we tell everybody?" he asked, as Ellen nursed the baby with a reinforced bottle.

"What do you mean?"

"Should we prepare them? Send out pictures? Give people a chance to react in the privacy of their own homes before they see Nathan in person?"

Ellen frowned. "Maybe we should just send a mouth-closed picture and warn people that he's 'different.'"

"'Different' could mean a redhead. We should be unsubtle."

"I don't know."

"Look, if we..." Samuel started to say "Look, if we aren't going to get rid of him and we aren't going to hide him in the basement for his entire life, then we should just send the pictures out there and get it over with," but decided not to. "I think that if people are going to scream, it would help if they did it someplace else."

"Nobody will scream."

"I can think of at least four people who are likely to scream."

"I just feel that when they see him in person, see his sweetness and innocence, see his adorable dimples, then the other thing won't carry quite as much of a shock."

"We've got to cushion the blow somehow," Samuel insisted. "I understand that we both love him, but he's a disturbing sight! We're lucky there isn't a whole line of reporters outside of our house." Samuel glanced at the front window to confirm that there actually wasn't, then continued. "What we should do is make him sound worse than he really is. Maybe imply that he has a forked tongue or a mouth on his stomach. Do something that makes people sigh with relief when it's only sharp teeth."

"There is absolutely no way I'm going to spread rumors that our son has a mouth on his stomach."

"Okay, yes, you're right, that was a poor suggestion, but what if we--?"

"My parents will be here in three days," said Ellen. "We'll test their reaction."

Samuel sighed, then nodded. "That sounds fair."

* * *

Ellen's comment that nobody would scream turned out to be incorrect.

TWO

"He's a monster!" screamed Helena, Ellen's mother, clutching at her heart. "A horrible beast!"

Helena had been polite at first. A smile, a coo, a barely audible whisper of congratulations, and then, after a moment of rather distinct lip-twitching, she proceeded to engage in the aforementioned screaming.

She was not a woman to scream easily (and had not, in fact, been one of Samuel's four predictions). She was a strict woman, yet a fair one. Stern yet nurturing. Rude yet usually correct. Samuel would have expected a response of "My goodness, what is that grotesque creature you have wrapped in the light blue blanket?" The shrieking was a surprise.

Ellen burst into tears and ran into the bedroom, taking Nathan with her. She slammed the door shut.

Martin, Samuel's father-in-law, scratched nervously at his elbow. "I didn't actually get to see anything," he said. "What was the issue?"

Helena started to answer, but then collapsed upon the sofa. "I need a glass of water before I faint," she said, gasping three times while speaking the sentence.

Samuel was more inclined to just let her faint, but he went into the kitchen and got her a glass of lukewarm water from the faucet. He handed it to her without a word. She took a small sip and set the glass on the coffee table.

"Samuel, what have you and my daughter done?"

"We had a child."

"That's no child. That is not my grandson. What happened? Did he die in the womb?"

"He's not a zombie baby!" Samuel insisted. "The teeth surprised everybody, but I swear to you, apart from that abnormality he's perfectly normal. Everything he's done for these past three days has been what we'd expect a baby to do. I had problems with the situation myself, but Nathan is no monster."

Helena took another sip of water. "Destroy it."

"Absolutely not."

"Smother it."

"No!"

"Samuel, that child will cause you nothing but misery. Look at the way my hand is shaking. Have you ever known my hand to shake?"

"No, but--"

"That boy is evil."

"He's not evil."

"You can't guarantee that."

"He's done nothing evil. Believe me, I understand how you're feeling. I'd thought about taking a shovel to him myself. But regardless of his appearance, he is our child, and we love him, and you're going to have to respect that."

Martin stepped toward the bedroom. "Perhaps I should take a look."

"Don't you dare!" said Helena. "I won't have you haunted as I am!" She gulped down the rest of the water then looked at Samuel with pleading eyes. "Get rid of it. If you won't kill it, put it up for adoption. Don't taint the family name with that monstrosity. You're young. There will be other babies. If you got started now you could have one before next summer. Please. You must understand that the baby in my daughter's arms was not meant to exist."

Samuel cleared his throat as he worked up his courage. "Helena, you are no longer welcome in our home."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't have to love your grandson, or even not be afraid of him, but you do have to understand that he is our son. When you decide to respect that, we'd love to have you as a houseguest, but until that time, I would like to request that you get the hell out."

Helena gave him a look of such intense rage that Samuel felt his resolve drain away like wax from a candle dangling over a volcano. "How dare you use the h-word when speaking to me? I'm trying to keep you and Ellen from ruining your lives!"

"Our lives will be fine," Samuel said. "I need you to leave."

"I'll send people. I'll send people to take him away."

"If you do, I'll kill you."

Helena gaped at him. "Do you see what has happened? Just living with the child for these few days has made you insane! This is absolute madness!"

"Okay, I really need to see this kid for myself," said Martin. He marched over to the door, knocked twice, and walked into the bedroom. Fifteen seconds later he emerged and returned to the living room. "Helena, I would like to leave now."

Helena stood up. "Samuel, I beg of you--"

"I mean it," said Samuel. "If you send anybody to take Nathan away, I will kill you. Not violently or painfully, but trust me when I say that you will at least be poisoned."

"Very well. If you choose to throw your lives away on this creature, then the decision is yours. Do not expect support of any kind from me."

She left the house without a word.

Martin had to make three trips to carry out the suitcases they'd brought in, so his exit was less dramatic, but soon he was gone as well. Ellen emerged from the bedroom as they drove off, holding sleeping Nathan in her arms, her face stained with tears.

"I'm sorry," said Samuel. "I was not polite to your mother."

Ellen sniffled, then gave her husband a sad smile. "It's all right. We can do this on our own."

* * *

Helena did not send anybody to take Nathan away. Upon further thought, Samuel had decided that he probably wouldn't actually murder her if she did, but it was nice to not have to make a final decision on the matter.

Samuel and Ellen vowed to give their son a normal life, although they settled on giving him a normal life except for the almost complete lack of social interaction. Apart from Dr. Thompson's regular visits, nobody ever saw the boy. When he got old enough to crawl, Samuel built a fence around their yard, where Nathan could happily scoot through the grass without the neighbors catching a glimpse of his teeth. Though it wasn't ideal, it was better than locking him in a basement, and much better than having torch-wielding villagers surround their home.

It was with a great deal of relief that Samuel came to accept that Nathan's teeth were the only odd thing about him. Otherwise, the boy was healthy, alert, and happy. He did bite his tongue on a couple of occasions, which caused the child to scream in agony, but nothing was ever severed. And though it took him longer to start forming words than the average toddler, that was only to be expected.

"It took me longer than average to start speaking, and that's only because one of my eyes was crossed until I was six," Samuel noted. "We can't hold that against the boy."

On his fourth birthday, Ellen and Samuel thought long and hard about how Nathan should receive his education. They knew that he had to be integrated into society at some point, but Ellen was reluctant.

"What if the other kids make fun of him?" she asked.

"They will," said Samuel. "That's a given. But I suspect that if he bites one of them, he won't be made fun of multiple times."

"He shouldn't have to bite people to keep his dignity."

"All kids get made fun of. He might as well have something genuinely weird about him; otherwise they'll just make things up to ridicule."

"What if he bites another student and the parents sue? Most children can barely break the skin, much less come away with a mouthful of flesh."

"You're right. We'll make sure he's aware that it's wrong to bite."

"I don't know," said Ellen. "I think it may be too much for him. Why can't we wait until his baby teeth fall out? For all we know, his real teeth will grow in normally, and we'd have created all of that mental scarring for nothing."

"What's going to damage him more? Kids making fun of him for having sharp teeth, or spending his entire childhood alone with his parents?"

"Kids making fun of him."

"I don't think that's correct."

"I can't do it," Ellen said. "Kids are cruel. I can't subject him to that. Maybe when he's five."

* * *

Nathan traced his finger along the words on the page. "...to the story."

"To the store," Ellen corrected.

Nathan frowned. "Why?"

"Because the 'e' is silent."

Nathan gave her a that's really stupid look. "Why can't I ever go to the store?"

"We've already talked about this."

"But why can't I?"

"Because, sweetheart. People are mean."

"You're not mean."

"I'm sorry, not everybody is mean, but some people are. You don't want people to be mean to you, do you?"

"Why would they be mean to me?"

"You know."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"My teeth?"

Ellen nodded.

"I'm not scared of that."

"Well, Mommy is. Mommy doesn't want you to get hurt. I'm here to protect you. Okay?"

Nathan lowered his eyes. "Okay."

* * *

"I'm taking him out."

"Samuel, no!"

"He can do whatever he wants today." Samuel looked at Nathan across the dinner table. "Nathan, what did you say you wanted to do for your sixth birthday?"

"Go someplace."

"It's unconscionable to keep him locked away like this. I'm not going to let it happen anymore. Nathan, show Mommy how you smile when you're not at home."

Nathan looked at Ellen and gave her a smile, keeping his lips together.

"Show her how you talk."

"Hi, Mommy," said Nathan, speaking so that his lips barely moved. "You look nice today."

"Nobody will ever know," Samuel insisted.

"He's only six," said Ellen. "He can't completely control his smiles."

"You can't tell him what to do on his birthday. We're just going to go down to the store and buy a huge bag of candy. I promise that nothing will happen to him."

Ellen continued to protest, but Samuel didn't listen. The way they raised their son was appalling. Nathan had to be able to leave the house once in a while. Ellen would see; they'd go to the store, come back without incident, and she'd realize that there was no reason to worry so much.

"If you give me a night to sleep on it, I'm sure I'll be fine with the idea. I know you're right. I just need a little more time."

Samuel sighed. His concern was that in the morning Ellen would decide that this was the worst idea imaginable, and she'd beg to wait until Nathan's seventh birthday before letting him interact with other people. Samuel wasn't going to wait another year. He was going to do this even if he had to sneak Nathan out of the house under the cover of night.

However, one more day couldn't hurt. "Okay," he said.

"Do I still get candy?" Nathan asked.

"Yes indeed," said Samuel. "First thing tomorrow."

* * *

It is important to note that what happened next was not suicide. Ellen Pepper was not a depressed woman. She was actually a very cheerful, upbeat woman, who was simply insanely overprotective and concerned about her son being subjected to harm. She would never use the word "freak," but others would, and the idea of other kids (or even adults) staring at Nathan, or pointing at him and laughing, or--God forbid--trying to hurt him because of his frightening appearance was more than she could bear.

But Samuel was right. They couldn't hide him away forever.

Tomorrow she'd come with them and keep a watchful eye on anybody who approached. Maybe everything would be fine.

Ellen did not go to bed unhappy. She was merely distracted.

She turned on the gas stove with the intention of boiling some water for a cup of tea to help her sleep. The flame didn't ignite, and she decided that she didn't feel like having the tea. She remembered--distinctly but incorrectly--shutting off the gas. She'd turned it off most of the way, but the knob hadn't quite clicked.

She even thought about it right before she fell asleep. Did I shut off the stove? She was about to get up and check, but Samuel was a light sleeper and it would wake him up, and if she concentrated really hard she did remember turning the knob back to "off." No need to worry. She went to sleep in her husband's arms.

The gas seeped throughout the night.

* * *

When Nathan woke up, in his room on the other side of the house from his parents, he felt different. He really hadn't felt any different yesterday when he woke up and was six years old, but at six years and one day, he almost felt like a completely new person.

Today was candy day!

He yawned, stretched, and then got out of bed and hurried over to wake up his parents.

THREE

"Mom? Dad?"

Nathan understood death as a vague concept. He knew, for example, that when he crushed a beetle its guts came out and it stopped moving. This had made him sad, and he'd made it a point not to crush any more beetles.

Dad had read him a book about a little boy with two dogs, great dogs, hunting dogs, and at the end of the book both of the dogs had died. Dad was crying while he read it--not sobbing, but several tears trickled down his cheek--and Nathan had found the book overwhelmingly depressing, even if he didn't quite get it.

He knew immediately that his parents were dead.

Still there, but gone.

Nathan poked Mom on the arm, trying to get her to come back to life. "Mom...?"

He didn't know what to do.

He cried for a while.

Then he got scared. He knew he shouldn't be frightened of his own mom and dad, even though they were dead, but he couldn't help it. He went outside and sat in his front yard and cried some more.

He didn't want the candy anymore. In fact, Nathan Pepper would never again eat candy of any sort. Licorice sticks, lemon drops, chocolate bars--the idea of all of them would be forever repulsive to him.

Nathan sat outside for five hours. He only cried for about two of those hours, off and on, but fortunately he was weeping when the postman arrived with the day's mail. Though Kirk Keller heard plenty of bawling kids on his route, this sounded different. He knocked on the door to the wooden fence, got no answer, briefly considered continuing with his route as if nothing happened, and then decided to go inside.

Kirk would become something of a hero at the Hammer's Lost post office for the next couple of weeks. After all, none of the other carriers had ever discovered a pair of corpses while en route. He would retell the story countless times throughout his life, gradually exaggerating the level of decomposition until it became a tale of his discovery of two human-shaped piles of goo.

The police came to investigate. They asked Nathan many questions, but he kept his mouth tightly closed and never said a word.

* * *

"Perhaps we should adopt the boy," said Dr. Thompson, laying in bed with his wife.

"Is it because you want to do experiments on him?" asked Mrs. Thompson.

Dr. Thompson was silent for a long moment.

"Perhaps," he finally admitted.

"Then no," Mrs. Thompson said.

* * *

The Bernard Steamspell Home For Unfortunate Orphans was run by Bernard Steamspell, a man who was very impressed by his own accomplishments, despite their scarcity. Over the past thirty years, he had engaged in thirty-two different business ventures, all of which had failed. He'd won the Our Lady of The Weeping Statue Orphanage in a bar bet over who could inhale the most black pepper. He'd renamed it after himself, as he had all of his other businesses, and immediately sought to figure out how he could make this non-profit establishment more profitable.

There were plenty of expenses that could be cut. The Our Lady of the Weeping Statue Orphanage had never exactly served gourmet meals, but under Steamspell's leadership, its dining experience only rose above the level of "vile slop" on Thursdays, which he reluctantly allowed to become Taco Night. He sold the current twenty-eight mattresses and used the proceeds to purchase fifty-four much worse ones. Hot water was limited to his private bathroom.

These were easy changes to make, because Steamspell loathed children. Whether they were well-behaved or rambunctious, intelligent or rock-stupid, fat or thin (though they would all eventually become thin in his care), Steamspell hated them all. Rotten brats. If they weren't awful little things, they'd still have parents.

Though Steamspell did not beat the orphans without justification, he found this justification remarkably easy to find. He had a large wooden paddle that he used to administer the beatings, but liked to turn it sideways, to better focus the pain. Every orphan under his roof had been beaten at least thrice, and a couple of the worst troublemakers were well into the triple digits. Despite his best efforts to control the impulse, Steamspell often burst into maniacal laughter as he struck them with the paddle.

Nathan had tried to be brave as he rode in the front of the police car that drove him to the orphanage. The officer he'd been with the most, a gentle-eyed man named William, had told him that it was time to be a big boy, and assured him that while he'd be sad for a while, he'd make plenty of friends at his new home.

The police had seen his teeth, of course. The reactions were evenly divided between horror and fascination, though those who fell into the "horror" category did not express this in front of Nathan, out of courtesy for the fact that he'd just lost his parents.

"His name is Nathan," said William, giving him a gentle shove forward to his new caregiver.

"Nathan, eh?" Steamspell asked. "Do people call you Nate? That would be easier."

Nathan shook his head.

"Well, we can make do with Nathan for now." Steamspell hated learning the children's names, and preferred to go with identifiers like Kid With Cowlick, Boy With Two Moles on Chin, and Blond Gawky Whiner.

"He's quiet but very polite," said William. "But before you take him into your care, you should be aware of his oddity."

Steamspell frowned. "Oddity. He'd better not be a bed wetter. I won't tolerate that." He glared at Nathan. "I've put many lads before you in diapers, and if you think they only have to wear them overnight, you're sorely mistaken."

"I don't wet the bed," said Nathan, softly.

"Did I just see what I think I saw?" asked Steamspell. "Open your mouth again, boy."

Nathan did as he was told.

Steamspell let out a long, harsh laugh. "Well, I'll be damned! I've never seen such a thing. The children I get are rarely top quality, but this..."

"He's a very nice boy," said William.

"Oh, I'm sure he is!" Steamspell held his sides as he laughed. "What a tragic young man you are! My God, the other children will eat you alive when they see those things. I don't mean that literally, of course. In a literal sense, it's much more likely that you'll eat them." He laughed some more, and committed that joke to memory with the intention of using it at least five or six more times.

"Are you going to be okay?" William asked Nathan.

Nathan was relatively certain that he was not going to be okay, but he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." The police officer shook his hand, and then left.

Steamspell briefly glanced at a piece of paper inside a folder. "Parents killed themselves, did they?"

"No, sir."

"Boy, when you address me, you will say 'sir.' Do you understand?"

"I did say 'sir.'"

"Then say it in such a way that I don't immediately forget that you said it! I will be treated with respect. If you wish to eat and be sheltered from the rain and sleep without being bitten by snakes, you will need to learn that I am the most important person in your life."

"Yes, sir."

Steamspell struck him on the side of the head, an open-palmed blow that made Nathan's ears ring.

"I said 'sir'!" Nathan insisted.

"I know you did. I'm not deaf. That was for all of the bad things you did before you came to live with me. I think we can both agree that a slap to the ear is an extremely mild punishment for all of the sins you've accumulated, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"So now we're starting clean. From now on, when I beat you, it will be for transgressions after this moment. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you bite the heads off chickens?" Steamspell laughed. "Wouldn't that be something to see? I wonder when real geeks get started in the geeking business. I'd guess it was pretty early, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know, sir."

"No, I guess you wouldn't, not having grown up in a carnival atmosphere. Maybe it's something I'll exploit. Do you like the taste of live chicken? Oh, no matter, we'll deal with it later. Come on, Nate, let's get you to your mattress."

* * *

On his second day at the orphanage, Nathan was given the nickname "Fangboy." His first day was mostly spent scrubbing down the kitchen with another boy who never spoke, and his first night was spent lying on his mattress, weeping softly under a thin blanket that had a mild scent of mold.

The other boys did not bother him that first night, possibly because they all remembered how they'd cried their first night at the orphanage. Nathan didn't want to cry, he wanted to be brave, but he couldn't help himself. He missed his mom and dad, and his own bed, and edible meals. (Dinner had consisted of gray and white lumps that, by popular vote, were determined by the boys to be chicken and dumplings, though in fact they were meatloaf.)

The second day, first thing in the morning, a boy who was about ten grabbed Nathan's toothbrush out of his hand. "It's mine now!" he declared.

"Give it back!" Nathan shouted.

The boy, Arnold, shook his head and held the toothbrush up out of Nathan's reach. "I'm trading you," he said. "I'm older, so I get the better toothbrush."

Toothbrushes were among the many items that Steamspell felt were unnecessary to replace on a regular basis, though he did not force the boys to recycle dental floss.

"No!" Nathan shouted. The toothbrush, though not custom-made, was the largest size Nathan's father had been able to find. He knew he could make do with a smaller brush, but despite his lack of social interaction, he realized that this was a pivotal moment. If he let the boy steal his toothbrush, he'd always be the Kid Whose Toothbrush You Could Steal. He wasn't going to be pushed around. "You can't have it!"

Arnold dropped the toothbrush onto the floor. The floor was actually rather clean because of all of the available child labor, but still, one never appreciated having one's toothbrush dropped onto the floor. "What's wrong with your mouth?"

Nathan closed his mouth and said nothing.

"Hey, everybody, come over here!" said Arnold, beckoning to the other orphans. "The new kid has fangs!"

"I do not!" said Nathan.

"Look at them! Those can't be real, can they?"

The other boys all crowded around him, and Nathan felt his face burn red with embarrassment. He covered his mouth with his left hand.

"Go on, show them your fangs!"

"They aren't fangs."

"They sure are! They're like Dracula fangs, except it's all your teeth! What happened? Were you born like that? Show the others!"

Nathan shook his head.

"I said, show the others!"

The other boys began a chant. "Show us! Show us! Show us!"

Nathan covered his mouth with both hands now, and desperately tried to keep himself from crying. His face burned so hot that he thought it might disintegrate into ashes.

"Show us! Show us! Show us!"

"What the blazes is going on in here?" asked Steamspell, peeking his head into the large (but not really large enough for fifty-four boys) bedroom.

"He has weird teeth and he won't show us!"

Steamspell chuckled. "What are you trying to hide, boy? Think you can keep those choppers covered forever? You might as well get it over with."

Nathan didn't want to get it over with. He was pretty sure he could keep his teeth covered forever, if necessary. But instead, he pulled back his lips and tried to give the other kids a pleasant smile.

They gasped. All of them.

One of them said a word that Nathan didn't remember having heard before but which he thought might be one of the bad words that his parents had told him never to say. "He does have fangs! He's a fangboy!"

"Fangboy!" several of the others shouted. "Fangboy! Fangboy! Fangboy!"

Nathan turned and ran. One of the kids on the edge of the crowd tripped him, and he fell to the floor, landing hard on his elbow.

"Freak show!" one of them yelled.

"Creepy mouth!" yelled another.

For a moment, Nathan thought they might hoist him above their shoulders and take him to be tarred and feathered (which had actually sounded kind of fun when his mother read to him about it, but sounded much less fun now). They did not. Instead, they just kept laughing at him and shouting new names until finally Steamspell angrily told them all to get back to their chores. Nathan very much doubted that this was done to salvage his dignity.

He lay there on the floor for a while, until Steamspell harshly suggested that he quit doing that.

FOUR

If you excluded the beatings, the bad food, the ridicule, the stolen personal items, the lack of privacy, the noise, the toilet that never quite flushed properly, the drinking water with colorful specks in it, the scary shadows that danced across the ceiling at night, the drab décor, and the overall mood of desperation and misery, the orphanage was still a rotten place to live.

At least the other kids--most of them, anyway--weren't truly mean. Once the novelty of Nathan's appearance wore off they--again, most of them--treated him as one of their own. Which is to say that they included him in their daily discussions of how awful it was to be stuck in such a place.

Nathan's first beating happened on his second day, when Nathan failed to pull the weeds in the backyard garden to Steamspell's satisfaction. Nathan protested the punishment on the grounds that Steamspell had not actually bothered to look at the garden before picking up his paddle, and also because if Nathan were to pluck all of the weeds, the garden would have no actual contents.

Steamspell did not appreciate either of these explanations.

Nathan's mother and father had believed in the value of a good spanking, so he was not a stranger to receiving this sort of discipline. He was not, however, used to the level of cruelty and sheer exuberance on display. The spanking from Steamspell hurt, and went on for a good five minutes beyond what seemed necessary to send any message beyond "Bernard Steamspell is a sadist."

Nathan's second, third, and fourth beatings happened on his third, fourth, and fifth days at the orphanage. Then Steamspell's attention was captured by a new boy named Thomas who was on crutches, and Nathan's beating schedule switched to an every-other-day basis.

"I hate him," said Reggie, an eight-year-old whose mattress was on the floor next to Nathan's. They lay in the dark. "I wish he would plop right onto the ground, dead."

"Shhhhh!" said another boy, Jeremy. "He'll hear you!"

"I think he'll beat us even if he's dead!" said a boy named Malcolm. "He'd find a way!"

Nathan was certainly in favor of the idea of Steamspell dropping dead, but he said nothing.

"He wouldn't be able to beat us if we buried his body," said Reggie.

"He'd dig his way out," said Malcolm. "Even if we filled the hole with rocks he'd dig his way out."

"If we cut him up he wouldn't," said Reggie. "If each boy was responsible for burying his own piece, we could be sure he would stay in the ground. Maybe an arm or two would find its way out, but he couldn't beat us if he were nothing but an arm."

Nathan cringed. This wasn't the sort of conversation he ever had at home with his mother and father.

"How could we do it?" asked Malcolm.

"We'd cut off his head first. Once his head was gone, I can't imagine the rest of him would cause us that much trouble."

"What would we use?"

"A knife from the kitchen."

"We don't have any that are big enough."

Reggie considered that. "You're right. But we have tape. And two knives taped together would be more than long enough. We'd draw straws for who got to do it, and that person would sneak in while he was sleeping--"

"Somebody would have to hold him down," Malcolm said.

"We'd draw straws for that, too. And so the lucky boys would sneak in there, and they'd saw, saw, saw away until the job was done."

"That's horrible," said Nathan. He slapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Horrible?" Reggie asked. "Horrible? I've heard the way you yelp when he goes at you with the paddle. What would you have us do, throw parties in his honor? Make statues? Bake Steamspell-shaped biscuits? I'll tell you what, if you're so in love with him, why don't you take the beatings for all of us?"

"That's not what I meant," said Nathan, pulling his blanket more tightly around him. "I just...does it have to be so messy?"

"As far as I'm concerned, it's not messy enough!" Reggie narrowed his eyes (or, at least, spoke in such a tone that Nathan thought he narrowed his eyes in the dark). "Maybe there's a way that you could be useful, Fangboy."

"There isn't," said Nathan. "I'm not useful to anybody."

"Don't worry," said Jeremy, the boy who'd shushed them. "They talk about killing Steamspell all the time. They won't really do it."

"The hell we won't! Maybe we won't really tape two knives together, but we have a boy here with the sharpest teeth I've ever seen. He wouldn't even have to press them together very hard to rip out Steamspell's throat."

"Like a vampire!" said Malcolm with great excitement.

Reggie shook his head. "No, vampires don't rip anything away after they bite. They just use their teeth to poke. I don't want Steamspell to have an inconvenient neck wound, I want a large piece of his throat in Fangboy's mouth!"

"That's disgusting," said Jeremy.

"Is it? Is it?" Reggie nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is. But disgusting in a fine way. That tyrant must die, and I believe that Fangboy here is the one who can make it happen."

"But not tonight, right?" asked Nathan in a pleading voice.

"No, not tonight. There's a lot of planning left to do. But soon."

* * *

Thursday was Adoption Day at the orphanage. The orphans would line up outside, using their best posture, and potential parents would file through, hoping to find a child to call their very own. The Bernard Steamspell Home For Unfortunate Orphans was not a quality orphanage and thus did not attract the highest caliber of parents, but each and every one of the children desperately hoped to be chosen.

"No, no, no," said an elderly man, shaking his head as he walked down the line. "These are slim pickings indeed. If I drove an hour north, I could adopt a grandson nearly twice as good." He let out a snort of contempt and left.

"Haven't we seen all of these already?" asked a man walking hand-in-hand with his wife. "It seems like every week it's the same group of kids, only a little thinner and dirtier. Where's the turnover?"

"I agree that it's a sorry lot," said Steamspell. "You have to understand that I take only the ones that are given to me. If I wished to go out kidnapping, I could offer a selection of the tallest, most charming boys you'd ever seen. But a man must follow his moral compass."

"Oh, of course," said the man's wife. "If we adopted a child, we'd want one whose parents were dead, not out searching for him."

"But though our turnover is indeed low, I'm pleased to say that I've acquired a fine specimen since your last visit."

Nathan stood up as straight as he could, and kept his mouth tightly closed.

"Look at this one," said Steamspell, slapping the newest boy on the shoulders. "Ones with freckles don't come through very often. And he's clever. Boy, say something clever."

"I'd watch eighteen hours of television a day if I could," said the boy. Suddenly he frowned, as if realizing that what he'd said was not as clever as what he'd hoped he'd say.

"He's on crutches," said the man.

"Yes," said Steamspell. "A tragic thing."

"Will he always need them?"

"Well, I don't know. I suppose not. And rest assured that the adoption fee would include both crutches. I wouldn't just send him home with you, unable to walk."

"May we have a moment?" asked the man.

"By all means."

The man and his wife stepped off to the side. They whispered amongst themselves for a minute, then returned to where Steamspell stood.

"No, we don't want the crippled one. What else have you got?"

"No others, sorry. Next week, perhaps."

Nathan waved his hand. "Mr. Steamspell!"

Steamspell gave him a look that could melt skulls.

"I don't think we've seen that boy before," said the man.

"Oh, you don't want to see that one," said Steamspell. "He's quite diseased. It's actually very irresponsible of me to have him so close to the others. Next week, then?"

After the man and wife left, Steamspell smacked Nathan on the back of the head. "What did you think you were doing?"

"But I'm new!"

"I'm not saying there aren't parents for you out there, but even a drunken hobo knows that boys on crutches outrank boys with demon teeth. If they passed on him, in what possible universe do you think they'd be interested in the ghoulish likes of you?"

Nathan hung his head. "No universe, sir."

"That's right. So I can't have you scaring off potential clients who were never going to adopt you anyway. What if you'd given them such a jolt that they never returned? Is your conscience flexible enough to accept the idea of frightening away the new mother and father of one of your fellow orphans? A mother and father who would give them food, shelter, and a parent's love? One of these boys might have the chance to sit in a large warm house, sipping hot chocolate next to a roaring fire with a cat on their lap, but because of your selfish attempt to bring attention to yourself they might die in this place, nothing but skin and bones and two deep crevices in their face where the tears eroded their flesh. Is that what you want?"

Nathan was sick to his stomach. "No, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to the other boys, whose chance at happiness you crushed. Go on, walk down the line and say you're sorry to each one of them."

Feeling the most intense shame of his life, Nathan walked down the row of boys, head lowered as he told each of them that he was very, very sorry for what he'd done. Some of them thanked him, some snickered, and some glared at him as if he truly had destroyed their chances of not dying in this hellhole.

The boys continued to stand at attention for a while longer, while Steamspell grumbled about how few aspiring parents had shown up that day. Another husband and wife arrived but didn't even make it halfway down the line before the woman sighed and tugged on her husband's sleeve. "Let's just go. There's nothing here."

None of the boys were adopted that day.

"This is very disappointing," said Steamspell. "How is it possible that I could not unload even one of you? There was not even an attempt to haggle! What are you boys doing wrong that makes you so unlovable by even those who are actively seeking children?"

Reggie raised his hand.

Steamspell glared at him. "What?"

"If you could provide more soap, more parents would want to adopt us. The sliver of soap I'm given each day barely lasts beyond my chin."

"Why, you filthy little rat! How dare you question my soap allotment? I had planned to spend this evening beating him--" Steamspell pointed at one of the boys near the end of the line. "--and him--" He pointed at another. "--but instead I'll be beating you. And I'm in a foul mood, so I intend to beat you until my spirits have brightened!"

The boys marched back into the orphanage. After a meal of soup that was more like water with a mild carrot flavor, they spent the rest of the day doing chores. Nathan's job was to shake a rug until every last tick had been dislodged.

Reggie's screams echoed throughout the orphanage.

"I'm glad I didn't say anything about the soap," Malcolm admitted, while he shook out his own assigned rug. "I was thinking it, and I thought he wanted a real answer."

Reggie didn't return from Steamspell's office until shortly before dinner, limping and bruised. "He won't feed us properly, but he spared no expense on that paddle," he muttered. "I thought it would break in half, but it didn't even chip. Did you see that it has diamonds on the handle?"

"Are you okay?" Nathan asked.

"I won't be okay until his throat is sliding down your throat."

"I'm not going to kill him."

"You stingy little miser. What makes you so special? Don't you think that if the good lord above gave you teeth of that sort he'd want them to be put to use? By ignoring your gift, you are spitting in the face of God. Spitting right into his all-seeing eye. Blasphemy!"

"I won't do it."

"Very well, then. It's your soul. Do what you want with it."

Life in the orphanage did not take an upswing in quality during the following week. Nathan missed his parents and he didn't like anything about this place and he hated being called Fangboy. He didn't cry as much anymore, and thought it might be because his body had run out of water to transport to his eyes.

Every night, Nathan thought about running away. All of the boys did. Unfortunately, tales abounded of all of the measures Steamspell had taken to prevent their escape. Hungry wolves lurked in the woods. The area around the orphanage was filled with so many land mines and bear traps that a boy wouldn't be able to take more than three steps before either blowing up or having iron jaws snap shut upon his ankle. (It also stood to reason that many of the wolves ended up getting caught in the traps as well, and if there was anything more fearsome than a wolf, it was a wolf who was angry about having been forced to gnaw off its own foot.) Goblins, or at least people dressed as goblins, roamed outdoors with giant clubs. Sharks dropped from the sky. Pits were plentiful. Men with rifles had a standing offer to earn eighty coins per orphan head.

None of these were true, and in fact any boy who made it half a mile northeast of the orphanage would have found himself in the care of kindly nuns, but none of the boys dared risk it.

The only thing Nathan had to look forward to was Adoption Day. He'd much rather have his real mother and father back, but since that wasn't a possibility (at least not in a non-supernatural, non-terrifying manner) he hoped to find replacement parents soon.

Nathan marched out with the other boys, trying to think merry thoughts in hopes that parents would want a happy child.

The first visitor was a portly woman who explained to Steamspell that her husband had gotten caught up at work, but that he trusted her to make the right decision. Green eyes were a preference, though not a requirement. Upon hearing this, Malcolm opened his green eyes as wide as he could, so wide that Nathan worried they might roll right out of their sockets and Malcolm would have to go chasing after them, which would be awkward since he wouldn't be able to see what he was chasing after. Nathan decided that should this happen, he would help Malcolm find his missing eyes, even if it meant receiving an extra beating from Steamspell.

"I do like this one," the woman said, looking at Malcolm. "But how do I know he is not evil? That's what my friends warned me about. 'Don't get an evil child or you'll regret it.' My friend Catherine, she adopted an evil one, and oh, the stains!"

"I understand your concern. I'm given evil children every once in a while, and rest assured that they are all..." Steamspell hesitated, trying to decide which answer would most please the woman. He decided that "executed" was not the way to go. "...hugged into a state of goodness."

"Delightful! Oh, my husband will be so pleased!" She ruffled Malcom's hair. "I can't wait to start giving him aptitude tests. Oh, young Percy, you'll be so happy at your new home!"

"My name is--"

"Yes, Percy, it will be a wonderful new life for you. Let's go."

Percy left with his new mother, beaming. The other boys grumbled.

When the next man and woman got out of their car, Nathan knew he had found his new parents. The woman wore a pretty dress and jewelry that sparkled, and she had long curly blonde hair that hung over her shoulders. The man wore a blue suit with a yellow tie. They both smiled.

"Look at all of the little darlings!" said the woman. "I wish we could take all of them home!"

"As do I," said her husband. "But we agreed that we wouldn't do that."

As they walked down the line, Nathan stood up as straight as he possibly could, imagining that giant hands were stretching his body. The woman's smile brightened as she saw Nathan. "Well, hello there," she said.

"Hello," Nathan replied, saying it without showing his teeth.

"What's your name?"

"Nathan."

"Why, that's what we would have named our own child if my womb weren't barren. Tell me, Nathan, do you like baseball?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you like potatoes?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you like dogs? We have three dogs. You'd have to take them for walks every day, and promise to feed them, and play fetch with them."

"I would! Every single day!"

The woman excitedly clapped her hands. "I adore him! What do you think, Charles?"

"I like him. He's short but not too short. How old are you, Nathan?"

"Six."

"Ah, I remember when I was six. The world had endless possibility. Oh, how my days were filled with harmless mischief. Do you like to fish?"

Nathan nodded, though he'd never been fishing. It sounded like a gleeful activity.

"Wonderful! I think our search is over. Give us a great big smile, Nathan!"

Nathan froze. Would they still want him if they knew? What if they were repulsed? What if they threw up, right there in front of all of the other orphans?

He gave them a small, closed-mouth smile.

"Are you only that happy?" asked the man. "We'd hoped to bring overwhelming joy to a young orphan. How disappointing."

Nathan didn't know what to do. He didn't want to scare them off, yet he couldn't very well refuse to smile if he hoped to be adopted. The perfect parents would love him no matter how he looked, right? Maybe they wanted a child with sharp teeth. Maybe they'd driven sixteen hours just because they heard that in this particular orphanage there was a little boy who'd been born with exactly the kind of teeth they'd dreamed their future son would have. If he didn't smile, they might move on down the line and choose a boy whose teeth were merely slightly crooked!

He smiled, exposing his teeth completely.

The man and woman looked at him, their faces expressionless.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Oh," said the woman. "Oh, dear."

The man turned to Steamspell. "Are all of the children like this?"

"No, no, not at all. He's our one aberration."

"Well, he looks like a fine boy, but obviously we can't bring such a severely mutated child into our lives. Perhaps we were too hasty about the whole parenting thing." He put his arm around his wife. "We should go home and read some more books on the subject, don't you think?"

"Yes, that would be best."

They left.

Nathan no longer smiled.

"You poor miserable beast," said Steamspell. "How disappointing it must be to have actually believed that they were going to give you a home." He laughed. "You're a gullible lad, Boy With The Teeth. A most gullible lad indeed. Heh heh. I'd have given my right arm to be able to peek into your mind at that moment when he asked if you liked fishing. You must have been so excited." He laughed and laughed, belly shaking, until he was forced to wipe a tear from his cheek. "Ah, there's nothing more amusing than the self-delusion of a six-year-old. Now, all of you, get back to work."

As Nathan stood there, drowning in humiliation, he wondered if Reggie was right.

Nathan had teeth that could easily bite through somebody's neck.

Steamspell had a neck that deserved to be bitten through.

It was worth considering.

FIVE

"Here's the plan," said Reggie. "Steamspell sleeps with his door locked at night, but Milton here survived two years on the street by breaking into garages and sleeping under trucks, so he can handle that part. He's a light sleeper, but he's used to background noise, so Angus and Cyrus will pretend to have night terrors and scream in their sleep, which will cover the sound of the lock picking. Nathan, you will sneak in there--make sure to have your mouth open already, to save time--and bite his jugular vein. Do you know which one that is?"

"No," Nathan admitted.

Reggie tapped him on the neck. "Right there."

"Will there be a lot of blood?"

"Of course. That's the whole point."

"What if it gets in my mouth?"

"You can't do this without getting some blood in your mouth. That's part of the sacrifice. Or perhaps the reward. Timothy's mother was a psychologist before she abandoned him, so he'll help talk you through any guilt or trauma afterward."

"What will you do?" Nathan asked.

"Supervise."

"That doesn't seem like much."

"It's the hardest part of all! If this plan goes wrong, it's all my fault. That kind of responsibility changes a boy. I'm putting myself at the highest risk of being forced to brood afterward, so you need to appreciate it and follow my instructions."

"But do I really have to bite him? Why can't we just smother him with a pillow?"

"There is too much dignity in being smothered. Steamspell doesn't deserve it. I swear to you, if those were removable teeth I'd pluck them out of your mouth and do the deed myself, but they are not, and we must work with the gifts we've been given. So, Fangboy, are you with us or against us?"

"Can't I be with you and not have to chew through somebody's neck?"

"No."

Nathan sighed. "All right. I suppose I'm with you."

"Perfect! Tonight at midnight, our tyrant will lay dead before us!"

* * *

Ninety-six minutes after midnight, Milton was still jiggling a paper clip in the door to Steamspell's bedroom, the unlocking of which was proving more of a challenge than anticipated. Angus and Cyrus' throats were getting sore from all of the feigned night terrors screaming. And Nathan's reservations about this whole murderous scheme were growing stronger and stronger with each passing moment.

"I can't do this," he said.

"Yes, you can."

"I don't want to."

"Yes, you do."

"What if I go to jail?"

"We've already worked out the cover story. You smelled smoke. Not wanting this place to burn down, you entered Steamspell's bedroom with the intention of awakening him to warn him. But you tripped. Oh, how careless of Steamspell to leave so many items strewn around the floor, and how ironic that it was his own poor housekeeping that caused his demise! As you fell you screamed, which is completely understandable, and your open mouth landed upon his neck. Such a shame! Nobody will press charges, especially after they see what a paradise we've turned this place into with our captor dead."

"Got it," said Milton, removing the paper clip. He quietly pushed the door open. Inside, Steamspell lay sleeping on his back under silken sheets on his luxurious four-poster bed, A silver platter with an assortment of grapes, strawberries, and cheeses rested on the bedside table. He snored softly.

Nathan's stomach grumbled. He loved cheese of all sorts.

Milton sadly handed Reggie a coin, having placed a wager on whether there would be a teddy bear. (There was not.) Reggie handed the coin back to him, since nor was there thumb sucking.

Reggie nudged Nathan forward. "Do it."

Nathan stepped into the room. This was a horrible thing he was about to do. Even if people were bad, you weren't supposed to bite out their neck. This was wrong. He'd be taken to jail or an even worse orphanage, perhaps one where they made you drink paint.

Or he'd be a hero, having saved his fellow orphans from a most terrible man.

Murderer or hero?

Murderer, hero, or spineless coward who did exactly as he was told?

He'd go with "hero." That felt best.

Nathan knew that if he kept thinking about it he wouldn't be able to create the upcoming violence, so he walked right up to the comfortable-looking bed, avoided the temptation to swipe a piece of cheese, and leaned his face down toward Steamspell's sleeping body.

Steamspell opened one eye.

Nathan gasped.

Steamspell opened the other eye.

Nathan had learned to control his bodily functions at a remarkably young age, yet it was only with the most intense concentration that these skills did not fail him now.

"You wretched cur!" shouted Steamspell as he sat upright. "What's going on here? Why are you in my bedroom? Why is your mouth open in a biting position?"

Nathan looked back at Reggie for help, or at least at where he thought Reggie would have been if the need for help arose. Reggie had fled. It was an act of cowardice that Reggie assumed would haunt him for the rest of his years, but he actually got over it within a matter of hours, deciding that it wasn't his fault that Nathan had fallen for his natural charisma and listened to him.

"Were you...were you..." Steamspell spoke as if he couldn't believe the words that were about to come out of his mouth. "...were you planning to kill me?"

The line between the virtue of honesty and the usefulness of lying was sometimes a thin one, but not in this case. "Absolutely not."

"Fibber!" Steamspell shouted. "Homicidal fibber! If that's the kind of environment you want, I'll show you how to murder somebody!"

Both of Steamspell's hands shot out, grabbing for Nathan's throat. Nathan ducked and ran out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him. The other boys who'd been watching stepped out of his way, all of them thankful that they hadn't been the ones born with the sharp teeth that had caused Reggie to hatch this particular scheme.

Steamspell followed right behind him. "I'll kill you! Don't think I won't!"

Nathan ran through the orphanage, having no doubt whatsoever that Steamspell did indeed mean to kill him. He could never have imagined that somebody would actually want him dead! (He remained unaware that anybody had wanted him dead when he was a baby.)

Nathan ran down the stairs, almost tripping over a three-year-old who slept there because it was more comfortable than his mattress. "Help!" Nathan screamed. "Help me, somebody! Anybody will do!"

Not all of the orphans were intelligent, but none of them were stupid enough to get in the way of an enraged Bernard Steamspell, and there were no immediate offers of assistance. As Nathan reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt that he was increasing the distance between himself and his pursuer, but yelped in terror as he felt Steamspell grab the back of his shirt.

Fortunately, Nathan was wearing the official orphanage garb, which consisted of clothes that were purchased because they were very, very cheap. (The clothing that the boys were wearing when they were admitted was taken away from them and sold to better orphanages.)

So his shirt tore off in Steamspell's hand as Nathan darted across the room toward the front door.

Did he really want to do this? Did he really want to rush out into a world of traps and wolves and hunters?

Yes. It was better than being strangled.

He reached the front door and turned the knob.

It was locked!

He changed direction and ran toward the kitchen. As he ran, it occurred to him that the front door would have been locked from the inside, and he would have been much better off taking the half a second to turn the lock.

Behind him, Steamspell was beginning to wheeze. The constant beatings had given him superior arm strength, but did little to assist with a chase.

They ran in a circle around the kitchen. Though Nathan saw many items that he could grab and throw, there wasn't time to do so. After their second circle around the kitchen, Nathan hurried back into the main room,

"Go Fangboy!" shouted one of the boys, momentarily forgetting himself. He quickly fell silent and stepped behind a taller boy.

"That's right! Go Fangboy!" shouted another boy, who was so into the moment that he didn't care if Steamspell beat him later. It wasn't as if he'd thought that his most recent beating would be his last. Why not enjoy a few seconds of exuberance?

Nathan raced back to the front door, twisted the lock, turned the handle, opened the door...and felt Steamspell's hand clamp tightly on the back of his neck. Steamspell kicked the door closed again.

"Well, well, well, thought you could get away, did you? Not so tough when your victim is awake, are you? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't squeeze right now and pop your head off?"

Nathan couldn't speak.

"I should make an example of you right here. If there's one thing I won't tolerate, it's attempts to kill me in my sleep. Get ready to join your parents, boy! Have you come up with your reason yet?"

Nathan still couldn't speak.

"My God, are you so pathetic that you cannot even think of one reason that I should not pop your head off? What about the fact that it will hurt? That's a good reason right there, one I came up with on the spot."

"Please--" Nathan finally managed to say.

"Please what?"

"Please don't kill me."

Steamspell loosened his grip on Nathan's neck. "I'm not going to kill you, you disgraceful ingrate. I'm going to give you what you want. You want to be free of me and the shelter I provide? Have at it. Who do you think will help somebody like you on the outside? Nobody, that's who!"

Steamspell opened the front door and beckoned with exaggerated grace.

"You'll see how it is. Your mommy and daddy may have protected you from the world, but in real life, people are afraid of monsters. They hate them. When people see you, first they'll shriek, then they'll shove a shotgun in your face, and then they'll pull the trigger, and that's a promise!"

"I don't believe you."

Steamspell grinned. "Well, Fangboy, then you won't live much longer. You can live like an animal or die like one, but either way, you're going to be an animal. Get out."

Nathan ran out the door, and then he kept on running. He was scared of traps and goblins, but he was more scared of Steamspell changing his mind. He ran and ran and ran, fleeing deep into the forest.

SIX

After ten or fifteen minutes of running, Nathan took a moment to reflect upon his good fortune. He'd somehow avoided every landmine, every bear trap, every ravenous wolf, every quicksand pit, and every other trap that Steamspell had set up to keep little boys from escaping the orphanage. He was blessed!

Now he just had to keep running until he found a road. Somebody would eventually stop and help him. If he told them how bad things were, they wouldn't make him go back to that horrible place, would they?

No, they'd just press a shotgun to his chest.

Laugh at him, or scream in horror.

Then shoot him.

"Die, Fangboy!"

But what else could he do? He had to trust somebody. He couldn't live out in the woods on his own.

Could he?

* * *

One of the most heavily debated elements of the tale of Fangboy is his year spent living alone in the forest. "Impossible!" some scholars have said. "He was only six years old! He would barely have lasted the night, much less twelve full months!"

An oft-proposed theory is that Nathan discovered a small and rickety cabin in the woods, where a mildly deranged old man lived. Though not an entirely discredited scenario, no evidence of a cabin was ever found, and there seems to be no reason Nathan Pepper would have lied about this part of his experience.

Most people, upon hearing about his forest adventure for the first time, immediately assume that Nathan succumbed to the natural advantages given to him by his dental abnormality, biting into the necks of deer and small game for food. This is incorrect. During his year in the forest, Nathan did not kill a single living creature, with the obvious exception of ants, mosquitoes, and other bugs, which were slain accidentally and without malice.

This is not to say that he sustained himself entirely on the two types of berries that were available within the woods. Though he rarely strayed more than fifty feet from the protection of the thick forest, he did venture into backyards, stealing apples from trees, garbage from cans, and sometimes--lured by the delicious scent--meat from unsupervised charcoal grills. When the weather was at its coldest, he slept in barns and doghouses.

He kept moving north, though he couldn't say for sure why he was drawn in this direction. It is also worth noting that his sense of direction was generally poor, and he spent as much time backtracking as he did moving forward, which is why even at his slow pace he never reached the end of the forest.

The forest was far from a comfortable place for a young boy to live, but Nathan seemed to have quite the knack for making it on his own out in the wilderness. Climbing trees was no problem. He bathed regularly in lakes and rivers, just as his parents would have forced him to do against his will. No wild animals tried to kill him (though, much to his disappointment, nor did any try to befriend him).

Each morning, he woke up thinking that perhaps he should show himself, that maybe Steamspell was wrong, that maybe he'd been taken in and cared for. Each night, he went to bed knowing that Steamspell was absolutely right, that he'd be executed as a freak if he was discovered.

When his clothes fell apart in tatters, he fashioned his own clothing out of leaves. When that was a rather humiliating failure, he walked around naked, natural, and free for a couple of days until he stole some ill-fitting clothes from a laundry line.

Occasionally he had fantasies about burning down the orphanage, but mostly he didn't think about it. He thought about his mother and father all the time, despite his best efforts to put them out of his mind because it made him feel sad and lonely.

One day as he walked through the forest, eating some berries he'd gathered earlier that morning, he thought that it might be his seventh birthday.

He wanted to celebrate. Have a great big party with cake (chocolate), balloons (red and green), presents (plentiful), and candles (seven). Perhaps a clown who would juggle. A magician who'd make the clown disappear. Pony rides. Fireworks.

"It's going to be the best birthday of all time," he said out loud. Nathan spoke out loud at least once a day, despite there being nobody else around, to be sure that he wouldn't forget how to talk.

The forest did not contain much in the way of cake mix. If he wanted to celebrate his birthday properly, he'd have to venture out and steal some supplies.

He walked until evening, but didn't walk far enough to emerge from the woods. Disappointed, he curled up next to a tree and went to sleep.

The next day he woke up with a strange feeling that this was his seventh birthday, and that yesterday he'd simply been overly excited. Yes, today he would celebrate. All of the forest creatures would be jealous of his grand birthday party.

As he resumed walking toward what he hoped was the edge of the forest, Nathan decided that if he hadn't found any theft-worthy birthday supplies by the time it started to get dark, he'd improvise. Tiny branches would serve as candles. A pile of mud would be his cake, though he would not consume it. He would wrap a rock in leaves and pretend to be delighted when he opened his gift.

But improvisation turned out to be unnecessary, and his heart leapt with joy as he emerged from the forest into somebody's backyard. There were no fruit-bearing trees or food on a grill or spare clothes hanging from a line, but Nathan was certain that if he did a bit of exploration, he'd find something to make his birthday a happy one.

It was a nice little one-story house. White and freshly painted, with a colorful flower garden, bright green grass, and a welcoming environment, despite the lack of any visible signs welcoming him.

There were no toys. Sometimes these homes had toys, and Nathan would occasionally jump on a trampoline, or dig in a sandbox, or wobble back and forth on a giant plastic bumblebee. This was always fun, although less fun than it would have been if he weren't so scared of being caught.

But he'd never been caught. Yes, he'd been chased away three or four times, but nobody ever knew that he was a fanged monster living in their woods. They couldn't have suspected that, or they would have sent people into the forest to hunt him. No, they just thought he was a mischievous little boy from another village, trying to steal playtime with another child's toys.

He walked through the yard toward the house, moving on his tiptoes even though such a thing was really not necessary on the soft grass. He hoped that if they had a dog that it was a small friendly one that would lick his hand and nip at his feet, and not a large one that would try to bite his thighs off.

Nathan walked right up next to the house. The window, decorated with a potted plant on each side of the sill, was very inviting. He never, ever, ever looked into windows--that was a good way to get caught--but it was his birthday, so why shouldn't he peek into a window if he wanted?

He raised himself on his tiptoes and looked inside.

The house was very tidy. There was a long couch and an oval-shaped rug, and a bookcase that seemed like it had thousands of books. There was a painting of a vast mountain range on the wall. The whole place had a warm, happy feel. He was sure that nobody was ever beaten in there.

Nathan thought that he could quite happily live in this house.

He continued to stare inside, transfixed.

Was that food? Yes, right there on a plate on a table next to the couch: a great big sandwich. He didn't know what kind of sandwich it was (all he could see for certain was the lettuce) but his mouth began to water.

Why was the sandwich just sitting there? Who would abandon such a glorious thing?

Would they hear him if he broke the window?

He was pretty sure they would.

What if he broke it quickly, and climbed inside and stole the amazing sandwich before they had a chance to react? Maybe the people who lived in this house kept their shotgun in an inconvenient location.

It might be worth getting shot to have a bite of the sandwich.

He gazed at the food, not realizing that his fingernails were scraping against the glass, until--

"What do you think you're doing?"

Nathan yelped. A woman, quite a bit older than his mother had been when she died, stood right next to him. He hadn't even noticed her sneaking up on him. He turned back toward the safety of the forest, but she grabbed his arm and wouldn't let go as he tugged and tugged.

"Stop it!" she demanded.

Nathan pulled so hard he thought that his arm might pop right off, which would make it more difficult to climb trees, but he couldn't get away. "Let me go!" he shouted.

Another woman came around the house into the backyard. She looked a lot like the first woman, though the first woman had black hair and this woman's hair was brown. She looked very surprised by what was happening as she ran over to them. "Hey!"

"Let me go! Let me go! I didn't do anything!"

"Just calm down," said the first woman, not letting go of his arm. "I'm not going to hurt you!"

"Please let me go!"

"Settle down and I'll let you go!"

Nathan gave one last unsuccessful tug, and then decided to stop struggling. Neither woman was holding a shotgun. Maybe they weren't going to kill him. Or maybe they were going to kill him in a much slower manner. He wished he had more information.

They all stood in silence for a long moment. Nathan was breathing heavy and tried to force himself to relax.

"Who are you?" the black-haired woman asked.

Nathan didn't respond.

The second woman looked at the first. "Is he feral?"

"I don't know if he's feral, but he's filthy!" She inhaled and scowled. "Goodness, you really stink. I've never smelled such a thing. Where did you come from?"

"Please let me go." They didn't seem to have noticed his teeth while he was screaming, but now that things had calmed a bit he spoke with his head down, keeping his mouth mostly closed, just the way he'd been taught.

"We can't do that until we understand what's going on. Where are your parents?"

"They're dead."

"Who takes care of you?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody? A boy of your age? Why, that's not...actually, from the looks of you, it is possible! Oh, you poor little darling!" The woman threw her arms around him, holding him tight. She was much taller than Nathan and he thought she might be suffocating him, but it was still the best feeling he'd had in an entire year.

"Where have you been staying?" asked the other woman.

"The forest."

"Goodness gracious! Assuming that your story isn't a shameful lie, what a remarkable young boy you must be! Would you like something to eat? We've made sandwiches."

"Oh, yes!"

Nathan didn't let his guard down, but he allowed the women to lead him inside the house. He'd known that he was hungry before, but now, with a fine meal so close, he was so ravenous that he thought he might follow these women even if they said "Surprise! There's your meal on the nose of a great white shark!"

"What's your name?" asked the woman with black hair, as they stepped into the kitchen.

"Nathan."

"Pleased to meet you, Nathan. My name is Penny. This is my sister Mary."

"Hello," said Mary. "I'll go get my sandwich from the living room and give it to you, since Penny has already taken a bite out of hers. Not that it matters. Right now you don't look like a boy who is overly worried about germs."

At this point, Penny could have spat out half of her guts between two slices of bread and Nathan would have eaten it, though he did not share this information.

Mary left the kitchen. Penny ran her index finger across Nathan's forehead and clucked her tongue. "I never knew so much dirt could cling to a single person. You're worthy of scientific exploration. And I don't believe I've ever seen hair so desperately in need of cutting. I count three, four, five, six...at least seven twigs twisted into your hair. How long have you been on your own?"

"A year."

"A year? That absolutely boggles my mind, though I guess the evidence stands before me."

Nathan was mildly offended by this, since he thought he'd done an excellent job with the bathing process, but he didn't protest. He couldn't say for certain how he smelled, as he'd grown accustomed to his own aroma.

Mary returned with the plate, which she set on the counter next to where Nathan stood. She gave him an encouraging nod, and Nathan picked up the sandwich and took an enormous bite.

Delicious!

Heavenly!

Beyond bliss!

Nathan was so focused on this masterpiece of a sandwich that it wasn't until he had but one bite left that he realized that he'd forgotten about hiding his teeth.

Had they noticed?

He looked at Penny, then at Mary. Neither of them were recoiling.

He swallowed.

"What would you like to drink?" Penny asked.

"I have a choice?"

Penny opened the refrigerator and peered inside. "We have milk and apple juice, or you can have water."

"Apple juice, please."

Penny took the jar out of the refrigerator. Nathan ate the last bite of his sandwich as she set it on the counter and took down a glass.

"You were certainly hungry," said Mary.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oooh, and polite! I didn't expect that from a filthy feral boy. Would you like another sandwich?"

Nathan gave her a vigorous nod.

The three of them stood in the kitchen as Nathan ate two-and-a-half sandwiches and drank three full glasses of apple juice. If they were going to murder him, Nathan figured that they would have gotten around to it by now, so he relaxed.

"We have to figure out what do with you," said Penny. "But the first thing we have to do is clean you up."

She used very hot water and had a painfully firm grip on the sponge, but it felt like torture with a purpose, as opposed to the mindless beatings of Bernard Steamspell. Penny washed his face and his ears and between his toes and scrubbed until he felt like he might not have any skin left, though he could clearly see that he did, and no veins had come loose. When she'd removed the dirt from every visible part of him, she gave him the sponge and left the bathroom so he could finish the job.

What a wonderful day this had been!

He looked at himself in the mirror and grinned.

Then he frowned. He might be clean from head to toe, but he was still a monster.

Penny and Mary were sitting on the living room couch, and smiled at him as he walked in. He didn't smile back.

"Do you feel better?" Penny asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. So, Nathan, we've been wondering about something. Would you mind so terribly if we took a closer look at your teeth?"

SEVEN

Nathan wanted to cry. This was the end of their kindness. Should he run now, before they could shoot him or throw things at him, or should he keep his mouth tightly closed in hopes of receiving another hour or two of generous behavior?

He did neither.

Instead, he opened his mouth.

Not all at once. First he gradually lifted his upper lip, exposing the top row of teeth a fraction of a millimeter at a time. Then he exposed the lower row. Penny and Mary watched him, their faces betraying no emotion.

With his teeth fully revealed to the sisters, Nathan just stood there, his ears ringing and his stomach hurting.

Finally, Penny spoke: "Goodness..."

"What happened?" asked Mary. "Did somebody do that to you?"

Nathan shook his head. "I was born this way."

"Goodness..." Penny repeated.

"We could tell that there was something unusual about them," said Mary, "but we never suspected this."

"Are you frightened?" Nathan asked.

Mary laughed. "Of a little boy like you who came to us starving and covered in mud?"

"That's not what I meant. I don't want you to be scared, I just thought that you might be, is all."

"No, we're not scared," said Penny. "Mystified, but not scared. May we see them closer?"

Nathan walked over to the couch and opened his mouth wide. He had to trust them. They'd treated him so nicely. They couldn't reject him now, could they?

"Incredible," said Mary. "It's not just the front ones. I would think that it would be difficult to chew with that kind of arrangement, although I suppose if you never knew differently it wouldn't be such a challenge."

"May I touch them?" Penny asked.

Nathan nodded.

"And do you promise not to bite me while I satisfy my curiosity?"

Nathan nodded again.

Penny put the tip of her index finger into his mouth and tapped it against one of his front teeth. She winced and withdrew her finger. "Ow. They're as sharp as they look."

"I'm sorry," said Nathan.

"Oh, it's not your fault. We should be the ones to apologize. We're gawking, and that's impolite. You may close your mouth now."

Nathan closed his mouth.

"Well, Nathan, you've certainly made it an interesting day for us. I suppose we'll need to take you to whomever it is that deals with lost little boys, but I'm sure it's been a tiring day for you, and you don't want to sit and watch adults do a lot of paperwork on your behalf. Would you like to stay with us until tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, I would," said Nathan, almost weeping with relief. "I really would."

They all sat together on the couch, and Nathan told them about his adventures and tragedies. They looked sorrowful as he talked about the death of his parents, and angry as he told them about life at the orphanage, and astonished as he spoke of living alone in the forest. (They believed the forest part of his story in general, but assumed that it actually took place over a much shorter timeframe than what Nathan claimed. After all, young boys were prone to exaggeration.)

"What did you say the other boys called you?" Penny asked.

Nathan lowered his head. "Fangboy."

"What a ridiculous nickname. Fangs are the teeth on the upper corners. You'd think that if they were going to make your life miserable, they could at least do it accurately."

"You're not going to send me back there, are you?" Nathan asked.

"Absolutely not. We won't lie and say that we know exactly what's to become of you, but I promise you will never have to go back to that dreadful place ever again."

"Thank you."

Mary had been trying unsuccessfully for the past twenty-five seconds to remove a twig from Nathan's hair, and finally gave up. "I give very poor haircuts," she said, "but they're better than what you've got. Should I give it a try?"

"Yes, please."

When they were finished, Nathan had to admit that Mary was right, it was a bad haircut, uneven and lacking the minimum amount of style to even satisfy a seven-year-old boy. Still, it no longer itched, and he was happy she'd done it, even with her constant jokes about how she expected to find a bird's nest contained therein.

They sat on the couch and talked some more.

"Have your husbands died?" Nathan asked.

Penny laughed. "I was engaged once, over twenty years ago, when I was only eighteen. We were going to get married and have six children, three boys and three girls. But he left me at the altar and broke my heart."

"Didn't any other men want you?" As soon as Nathan blurted that out, he realized how horrible it sounded. Penny laughed again before he could apologize.

"Four other men have asked me to marry them during my life. I turned them all down. One was a drunkard, one was a liar, one was inadequately intelligent, and one was..." She looked a bit sad. "One was a mistake."

"Have five men asked to marry you?" Nathan asked Mary.

Penny didn't let Mary answer. "My sister is a beautiful woman who only wishes to marry another beautiful woman."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "That's an odd sort of thing."

"I suppose it can be to some people. Not that it matters. Mary is so unspeakably picky that she will never find a mate that meets her standards, and so she is unfortunate enough to live with me." Penny gave Mary a playful swat on the shoulder.

Mary smiled. "She speaks the truth. But sisters get along better than any husband and wife, so why not?"

After talking some more, they had a delicious dinner of pork roast, carrots, and rye bread. Nathan had formerly liked neither carrots nor rye bread, but he thoroughly enjoyed these. They ate, talked and laughed. Then Penny and Mary let Nathan read a book about a loving rabbit while they did the dishes.

Then they played card games. The sisters taught Nathan how to play Hearts, and he taught them how to play Exploding Nines, which he made up on the spot and which lacked a logical endgame but was a lot of fun for everybody.

They offered Nathan a bar of chocolate for dessert, but he declined.

He slept on the couch under a clean, thick blanket, feeling warm and happy.

* * *

Nathan woke up to the sound of a sizzling pan and the smell of eggs cooking in the kitchen. He immediately knew that it was going to be a wonderful morning, until he remembered that the sisters were going to send him away.

He didn't want to leave. He liked it here.

He tried to think of ways to make them keep him around. Were there any handcuffs in the general vicinity? If so, he could handcuff himself to something, swallow the key, and they'd be forced to let him live with them at least through his next digestive cycle.

Or he could make an absolute pig out of himself at breakfast, eating so much that the sisters would be physically unable to lift him from the couch. Nathan wasn't sure how many eggs were required for such a thing, but he was prepared to eat as many as it took.

Was he overthinking this? Maybe a good old fashioned temper tantrum was the answer. He could kick and scream and wail "No! No! I'm not leaving!" until they finally gave up and let him live with them forever.

Or he could just ask.

When should he do it? After breakfast? When would they be most receptive to having a child stay in their home? Should he do it right now, before he accidentally did something bad that might make them want to get rid of him?

"Good morning, sleepyhead," said Mary, walking into the living room. "Admit it, that couch was more comfortable than the cold forest dirt, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yes."

"Do you like eggs?"

"Yes! Even when they're cooked strangely."

"Well, then, let's have some eggs."

Nathan ate enough eggs to exhaust two hens, along with some buttered toast and orange juice. And then without thinking about it much, he blurted out: "May I stay with you? Just for a while longer?"

Penny gave him a sorrowful look. "Is nobody worried about you?"

Nathan shook his head.

"If it were up to us, you could stay as long as you liked. But there are legal procedures that must be followed. We can't just let a strange little boy live with us without first contacting the authorities. We could be arrested for kidnapping. And for all we know you have an aunt who has cried herself to sleep every night for the past year. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He understood. The sisters could not be expected to risk spending the rest of their lives in prison for him.

They assured him that everything was going to be all right, and then drove him into town. Nathan had only been in an automobile a couple of times, and never gone far, so the fourteen mile trip into town was filled with awe and wonder, and when they got out of the vehicle Nathan found himself making silly car noises as they walked into the police station.

They waited for nearly an hour before a uniformed police officer welcomed them back into his office. There were only two chairs, excluding the one that Officer Danbury sat on behind his desk, so Nathan stood.

Penny cleared her throat. "We'd like to report the finding of a Mr. Nathan Pepper."

"Nathan Pepper, hmmm?" Officer Danbury looked up at the ceiling, as if the answer to his fleeting thought might be dancing around up there. "Name doesn't sound familiar. How long was he missing?"

"About a year."

"That long? I need to warn you, in missing child cases that take so long to resolve, the parents have often procreated a replacement. You're not the jealous type, are you, Nathan?"

"No, sir."

Officer Danbury opened a thick, dusty book and began to flip through the pages. "Let's see...ah, look at this, I turned to it on the fourth try. Nathan Pepper. Apparently you're dead."

"But I'm not," Nathan insisted.

"Well, you know that, and I knew that the moment you walked into my office, but according to my official Missing Children Cases logbook, you were reported as deceased by a Bernard Steamspell of Bernard Steamspell's Home For Unfortunate Orphans. It lists your cause of death as 'Eaten.' I assume that was meant to indicate that you were eaten by some sort of animal, and not that anybody is confessing to cannibalism."

"But I wasn't eaten."

"Obviously. I may not be the most perceptive cop in the department, and in fact I've been told time and again that my skills in that area are inadequate, and it tends to be a sticking point each year when it's time for my performance review, which is frustrating because it has a negative impact on my pay raise, and even with a generous raise I'd still be just barely scraping by, what with my wife and three children, and though I try to raise my awareness of the world around me much of it remains a blur, something that actually got worse with medication, but despite this lack of perceptive abilities I can clearly see that you were not eaten."

"Good."

"Is it? When I was your age I would've loved to have everybody think I'd been eaten. I would have milked that for weeks. Then I would have twisted my arm behind my back and said 'It's okay, they only got one limb!' Have you ever seen that trick where you can pretend to shove your thumb into the soft spot in the back of somebody's head? Sorry, I'm getting off the subject. Look at that, you were from the original Bernard Steamspell orphanage. You're a long way from home. That was the village of Hammer's Lost. This is the town of Giraffe Pond, a town which those into trivia have often noted contains no pond and few giraffes. There's a goodly distance between the two."

"The original orphanage?" asked Penny. "There are others?"

"Mr. Steamspell is the most successful owner of orphanages around! He opens a new one every month! If I knew the secret of his cost efficiency, I wouldn't be working in this dump of a law enforcement station, I can tell you that much."

"Is he a kind man?"

"Steamspell? I think the majority of his success comes from other attributes besides kindness, but you can't argue with his results. You're in luck. He has a brand-new facility not ten miles from here."

Nathan felt as if he'd been gored in the stomach by a rhinoceros. The eggs he'd eaten for breakfast immediately threatened to spew from his body in a yellow-and-white waterfall of terror.

"Isn't there another option?" asked Penny. "Foster care, perhaps?"

"No, ma'am. I'm afraid there isn't."

Penny looked over at Nathan. "I don't think the orphanage is the most enriching environment for a boy like him."

"I agree with you completely," said Officer Danbury. "There are countless better places for a child to grow up, but the other options are all based on the assumption that the child's parents aren't dead. If one parent is alive, then the options increase by about fifty percent, but in this case there's really nothing else we can do."

"What if..." Penny cleared her throat again. "What if we wanted to keep him? Just for a short while?"

"Oh, no, I'm afraid that isn't possible. You could be an unfit parent. If you want to adopt him, you'll need to get him from the orphanage. We can't just hand him over to you--I mean, I'd be a pretty shabby officer of the law if I just said 'Want a child? Here you go.' You needn't worry about his safety, though. I'm sure Steamspell will be so elated that Nathan here wasn't eaten that he'll put him under his own personal protection."

Nathan felt as if the imaginary rhino that was currently goring a hole in his chest had begun to move its head in larger and larger circles. Should he flee? Should he quickly commit some sort of crime so that he could live in jail instead of the orphanage?

Penny glanced at Nathan, and then at Mary. The sisters exchanged a look that Nathan couldn't quite decipher. And then Penny's expression transformed into one of rage, and she grabbed Nathan painfully by the ear.

"You awful child! How dare you impersonate a dead boy? I should have known that this was another of your lies! I shall take you back to the house next door where I found you and tell your parents all about your disgraceful deception!" She stood up, not letting go of Nathan's ear. "Officer Danbury, I apologize for not discovering the lie until just now. Sometimes my sister and I are very slow. I assure you that he'll be dealt with and that it will never happen again."

"That's quite all right," said Officer Danbury. "I don't like having my time wasted, but this actually saves me time because I won't have to make arrangements with the orphanage. The whole process would have taken a good half hour or so, and you barely wasted five minutes, so I believe I may go out and have a smoke."

Penny said nothing as she dragged Nathan back out to the car. But as soon as they drove away, her expression softened. "Are you okay? Did I stretch your ear too much?"

"It's fine."

"We do not promise that you can live with us forever. But until such time as we feel the need to end the arrangement, we would like to invite you to be our son."

Nathan said yes.

EIGHT

They went home--home!--and had a delicious lunch. And then Penny stood up, folded her arms over her chest, and looked quite serious.

"In this household, we do not tolerate those who wish to wallow in the warm mud of their own laziness. You will be expected to work. I do not mean that you will have to get a job in a cannery or anything like that, but you'll have to help keep the house and the yard clean. At mealtime, you will eat everything on your plate, unless one of the adults declares it unsuitable for consumption. And you'll have to go to school when the new term begins in the fall."

"School?" Nathan was horrified. "But the other kids will make fun of me!"

"And so what if they do? I won't have people think that we're raising an uneducated hill child. It's never enjoyable to be ridiculed by others, but you'll learn to cope."

"Yes, ma'am."

The next day was Monday. Penny worked as a librarian and Mary managed a small restaurant, and though they were both scheduled to work, they took the day off in order to take Nathan shopping. They bought him seven new sets of clothes, a brand-new pair of shoes, and a toothbrush that they promised him wouldn't be stolen. He was given his choice of any stuffed animal at the toy shop (except those on the top shelf; they were too expensive) and picked a friendly looking orange bear that he named Cartwheel, for no reason except that he thought a bear like that would be inclined to do a cartwheel.

"One more stop, and then we'll go home and play Exploding Nines again," said Penny, as they got back into the car. Nathan was so happy to have Cartwheel on his lap that it didn't occur to him to question why Penny had not identified the actual location of the stop.

"No!" he said, following that word with a gasp, when the moment of revelation finally arrived. "Please!"

"Nathan, you have to go to the doctor. Who knows what kind of germs or parasites you acquired while living in the woods? We'd be irresponsible parents if we didn't make sure you had a clean bill of health."

"What if he gives me a shot?"

"Then you'll thank him for his concern about your well being. Many boys who need shots don't get them."

"What if he wants to take out my teeth?"

"Don't be silly. He's not going to try to remove your teeth. We're not going to let him hurt you. And by that, of course, I mean we're not going to let him cause any damage that has no long-term benefit. The shot itself may sting a bit."

Though Nathan wanted to protest some more, he also didn't want Penny and Mary to decide that they were caring for a bratty child, so he said nothing else.

"Don't worry," said Mary. "If he seems overly fixated on your teeth, we'll tell him that you, being unintelligent, glued joke teeth into your mouth, and that our next visit is to the dentist to have the adhesive removed, with great physical discomfort to be endured on your part."

"Okay," said Nathan.

Nathan was not good at judging people's ages, but the doctor seemed to be the oldest man who had ever existed. He was gray and wrinkled and frail, with a neatly trimmed mustache and beard.

"Dear me," he said, as Nathan sat down on his examination table. "Such malnutrition! A wider array of blisters I've never seen. I should think that he was kept locked in a basement, with nothing to do but pace day and night."

"He is the son of our cousin," said Penny. "He was sent to us when his parents moved to an island that did not allow children."

"Well, I would discourage them from returning to the mainland, because I would have a word or two with them, and they would not be words that they wanted to hear. They would be stern, menacing words, This is disgraceful, simply disgraceful. I would weep if I were the type of person who believed that it is okay for a man to weep."

"Can you help him?"

"Yes. His body has not yet degenerated to the point of no return, which is why he is still alive. I'll give him a shot to cure his obvious case of Deadly Forest Plague, another shot to replace six of the eight vitamins his body is sorely lacking, another shot to cure the mange, another shot just in case, and, finally, a shot to tame his urge to kill."

Penny looked shocked. "Does he really have an urge to kill?"

"All children do these days."

"Are you sure you're not trying to sell us an unnecessary shot?"

"I'm not going to lie to you," said the doctor. "I very well could be and probably am. But it's not an expensive shot, and now that I've instilled that sense of unease about the boy's possible murderous impulses, it will be well worth the purchase price to remove the fear."

"You're right," said Penny.

The doctor smiled. "Tell me, Nathan, do you want the shots in your arm or in your eyes?"

"My eyes?" asked Nathan, horrified.

"Yes."

"I don't want a shot in my eye!"

"Good. For that was a test. If you'd said that you wanted me to stick you in the eye with a hypodermic needle, I would have known that you were deranged, and would have discretely suggested that you be sent to the care of a sanitarium. So, put out your arm, and we'll get started."

Nathan put out his arm and the doctor gave him the shots, one after the other. The doctor actually gave him six shots instead of five, looked confused for a moment, seemed to recount in his mind, and then chuckled at his own foolishness. Nathan didn't enjoy the shots, but he'd spent much of his time in the forest stepping on sharp twigs and accidentally poking himself with branches, so the pain was minor.

"Very good," said the doctor. He took a wooden tongue depressor from a jar and held it up to Nathan's mouth. "Say ahhh."

"Ahhh."

"Actually, I wasn't interested in hearing the noise itself. It was really just a ruse to get you to open your mouth. So let's try it again."

"Ahhh," said Nathan, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue.

The doctor held the tongue depressor in mid-air. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Do we look like the kind of people who would play such a joke?" asked Mary, believing it to be a suitably evasive answer.

The doctor looked wistful. "My entire life, I've been ashamed of the normalcy of my teeth. Each night as I brushed I thought about how wonderful it would be to be a shark or a barracuda, swimming around in the ocean with a mouth full of jagged teeth."

"Wouldn't the other kids have made fun of you?" Nathan asked.

"They did! In a moment of poor judgment, I told one of my classmates about this fantasy, and he thought it was ever-so-amusing. 'Hey, everyone, let's ridicule the warped boy who wishes he had razor-sharp teeth!' Those were dark times for me. But I had the final laugh, because now I am a rich and successful physician, with a huge house and a thin wife, while he has a small house and a huge wife. Did you want another shot?"

"No, sir."

"Good. You passed another test."

* * *

"See, now that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Penny, as they drove away. "Doesn't it feel good to be healthy again?"

"It does," said Nathan. "It really does."

* * *

If one were to draw up a comparison chart between any two months of the year that Nathan spent in the forest, and the two remaining months of his first summer with the sisters, the line for the months in the forest would be drawn near the bottom of the page, indicating sadness, while the line for the months with the sisters would be drawn near the top of the page, indicating happiness. The bottom line would be drawn in an unhappy color, perhaps dark blue, while the top line would be a bright yellow or purple.

Nathan's bedroom was small (they'd converted a room in the back where Penny used to like to sit and read) but comfortable. He stayed at home while the sisters went to work each day, since they supposed that a boy who'd lived by himself in the forest could stay by himself in a locked house during the daytime. He was given a list of chores to do each day, and almost always did them.

Each night they played games. Mary would usually win, and Penny would pretend to be furious and storm off, and everybody would laugh. Sometimes Penny would win, in which case Mary would also be furious and storm off, except that she wasn't pretending. When Nathan won, he would do a dance, which would be adjusted in scope and intensity depending on whether he'd won by a little or a lot.

The sisters would scold him when he did something wrong, and even punish him when necessary, but he always felt loved.

Was he happier with them than with his real mother and father? That is an unfair question. Given the opportunity to change history, he certainly would have saved the lives of his parents and gone back to excitedly anticipating his candy store visit. Yet he also enjoyed being able to go grocery shopping, to eat in inexpensive restaurants, and live beyond his front and back yard.

He would have changed the past if he could, but since he couldn't (to the best of his knowledge), he would simply live the life he'd been given and enjoy being happier than he'd ever been.

The happiness was impacted by a sense of dread, though, as the date for his first day of school approached. He liked social interaction such as ordering hamburgers, but to be stuck in a classroom all day? With other children? Who might chant "Fangboy" at him? And who might draw mean-spirited pictures of him depicting his teeth as even larger and sharper than they were? This seemed like it could go terribly wrong.

"Can't you just teach me at home?" Nathan asked Penny and Mary.

Penny, who sat on the couch, patted the cushion next to her. "Come here, Nathan, and let me tell you a story."

Nathan sat down next to her.

"Once upon a time there was a little boy, a boy who looked much like yourself as a matter of fact. This little boy did not want to go to school. But we made him. And he went. The end."

"That wasn't a very good story," said Nathan.

"That's because it's based on reality. Would you really have us devote as much time as a teacher to your education? Shall I quit my job and let Mary support us? Would you like to get a job?"

"I'm sorry," said Nathan. "I'll go to school."

"Yes, you will. And you'll bring home good grades. Your handwriting is so atrocious that you'd think you had sharp pointed fingers instead of teeth. What is six times seven?"

"I don't know, but six times five is thirty."

"The fives are easy. You have many things to learn, Nathan Pepper, and you will go to school like any other child."

Nathan nodded, and felt ashamed that he'd ever protested. This was his chance to have a normal life. He couldn't expect anybody to quit their job to keep him from feeling awkward. When had he become such a selfish boy? He was going to go to school and study hard and learn his multiplication tables and be able to point out every country on a map and become smart and invent things and get rich and move himself and the sisters into a mansion with a butler and a gardener and a special room filled with butterflies.

He would change the world!

NINE

Two weeks before school started, Nathan lay in bed, nearly overcome by sleep, when he discovered that one of his teeth was loose.

It was one of the corner ones that could legitimately be called a fang. The upper left. If he poked at it with his tongue, it jiggled. He lay there for a moment, jiggling his tooth, then got out of bed and hurried into Penny's room. She sat up in her bed, reading.

"Look!" he said, proudly opening his mouth and making the tooth move. "It's my first loose one!"

Penny leaned forward. "I believe you're right!" She called Mary into the room, and they both admired his loose tooth, the way it could wobble forward and backward.

They'd discussed this before. Mary had told him that before too long his teeth would start to fall out, one by one, and that it was nothing to be afraid of, it was part of the natural course of things, and that new teeth would grow back in their place.

"Will they be normal teeth?" Nathan had asked.

"We won't know until we see them. Perhaps they might. Perhaps when it's all over, you'll have a mouth full of teeth just like anybody else."

Penny had shushed her and told her she was being cruel, that it was wrong to raise his hopes like that. Mary had argued that it was a perfectly feasible outcome, and that there was no reason the boy shouldn't look forward to the possibility. Nathan had been told to leave the room, and the subject was no longer discussed.

"Should I get a pair of pliers and rip it right out?" asked Mary, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She said it with a smile to let Nathan know that she was teasing, that she wasn't really going to rip his tooth out with pliers.

"No, no," said Penny. "We need to tie a string around his tooth, and then we need to tie the other end around the tail of a bull, and then we need to anger the bull so that it runs off."

"But what if the tooth isn't loose enough? Our poor Nathan could find himself being dragged behind an angry bull!"

"You're right! And what if we were careless about the location of the bull and sent it rushing toward a cliff?"

"And what if at the bottom of the cliff were shards of broken glass floating in lava?"

"He would be doomed, doomed, doomed, and it would be all our fault!"

Nathan poked at his tooth some more. "I think I'll wait for it to fall out on its own."

Penny furrowed her brow in deep thought. "I wonder if the Tooth Fairy brings extra money to boys with sharp teeth?"

"The Tooth Fairy?" Nathan asked.

"You haven't heard of the Tooth Fairy?"

Nathan shook his head.

"You, of all people, have never heard of the Tooth Fairy? What sort of upbringing did you have?" Penny bit her lip, as if realizing that she'd said something awful. "I'm sorry. Maybe your parents meant to tell you at a more appropriate time. When a little boy or little girl loses their baby teeth, they put them under their pillow, and when they wake up in the morning, they find that the Tooth Fairy has replaced the tooth with money!"

"Money for teeth? I don't believe you."

"Oh, well, you have to believe, or the Tooth Fairy won't come."

"What does she do with the teeth?"

"Nobody knows. Perhaps she makes necklaces out of them. Perhaps she grinds them up and makes chalk. Perhaps she even eats them."

"Hmmmm," said Nathan. "If these teeth are so valuable, maybe people should hang on to them instead of selling them off to a fairy."

"That may very well be a wise idea," said Penny. "Who knows? You could sell them for ten times what that miserly Tooth Fairy would have left."

Nathan continued to work at the tooth. He did not have the courage to take any drastic measures to hasten its removal, but he wiggled it whenever he had a free moment, and he bit into apples harder than he might normally have done, and when he brushed he focused nearly twice as much attention on that particular tooth as he did the others.

And then, when he woke up one morning, the tooth was gone.

He'd lost his first tooth!

He was so excited he nearly cried out with joy.

But...where was it?

"I've swallowed my tooth!" he shouted. "I can't believe I've done this!"

He'd lost his source of profit!

And more importantly, what devastation awaited his insides as this tooth made its way through his body? He could almost feel it, poking and jabbing and slicing through important parts. Oh no!

He started to run out of his bedroom, then caught himself and walked in a very, very, very, very slow manner, hoping to keep the tooth from moving around. Where was it now? Still in his stomach? Lodged two inches below his throat? He'd be lucky if it didn't slice him open, neck to navel.

"What's the matter?" asked Penny, wiping sleep away from her eyes as she emerged from her bedroom.

"I swallowed my tooth while I slept!"

"Are you sure?"

Was he sure? He wasn't doubled over in agony. There weren't any new holes in his body where the tooth might have made its way out. "I'm pretty sure."

"Well, let's look for it instead of rushing into a state of panic." They walked into Nathan's bedroom, where Penny gently pulled the blanket aside. She quickly plucked something small and white from on top of the sheet. "Here it is."

She handed him the tooth.

"Thank you!" Nathan said. "I thought I was a goner!"

"You are a silly boy sometimes."

Nathan held the tooth up to the light, admiring it from all angles. "I'm going to figure out exactly what the Tooth Fairy does with all of the teeth she purchases," he said. "Maybe that's how I'll make us all rich!"

Of course, it cannot be forgotten that Nathan was only seven years old, and though his intentions were admirable, the lure of easy money was too much to resist. During dinner, he admitted to Penny and Mary that perhaps he ought not to interfere with the Tooth Fairy's business, and would indeed place the tooth under his pillow.

It is now that we must step way from our story for a bit to speak to the younger readers of the tale of Fangboy. Though we hope you have enjoyed the narrative so far, and perhaps learned some valuable lessons from it, the next section will be of no interest to your youthful minds. You will find it dull and ponderous, and you may find yourself wishing to place the book aside rather than read it through to its conclusion. That would be a shame, for there are many adventures still to come, including some frightening moments and some derring-do action that will tickle your hearts. So when you reach the end of this section (which will be helpfully marked with "* * *") skip ahead to the next section and resume reading as if you'd missed nothing.

Parents who are reading this book out loud to their children should also skip the following section.

* * *

Of course, there was no Tooth Fairy. When children placed their teeth under their pillow, the parents knew fully well that no magical fairy would appear in the home and secretly replace the tooth with money. It was, in fact, the parents themselves who did this, using their own money. This explained why rich children received large sums of money and poor children received small sums, in much the same way that the disproportionate gift distribution by Santa Claus always favored wealthy families, even though one might think that elves making gifts at the North Pole would be uninterested in a family's socioeconomic status.

So in the middle of the night, after Nathan was asleep, Penny and Mary crept into his bedroom, moving with great stealth so as not to wake him up and expose the ruse. Penny reached underneath his pillow and withdrew the tooth, while Mary did the honor of sliding the money where the tooth had been.

They placed the tooth in a small jar, and Penny put it in the secret drawer of her tiny keepsake shelf.

* * *

The next morning, Nathan lifted his pillow and there were not one, not two, but three coins! Three whole coins!

He thought about what he might buy. Lemonade? A suckling pig? Maybe he'd save it. Kids at school who were inclined to be mean to him might make less fun of a boy with three coins to show off.

But then he spent them all on comic books.

* * *

On the first day of school, he woke up with a stomachache, one that felt like a giant invisible hand was kneading his guts like pizza dough. For the briefest of instants he considered raising a fuss about it and declaring himself too ill to go to school, but he knew it was only his nerves and that Penny and Mary would make him go to school anyway.

Penny made him an extra-special breakfast of pancakes with strawberries on top. He ate slowly, the syrup congealing around his tongue.

"It will be fine," she assured him.

They'd had an appointment with Nathan's teacher, Mrs. Calmon, two days ago, just to be sure she was made aware of the situation. Mary did not come to this meeting, partly because she couldn't take the time off work, and partly because she felt it was unnecessary. "Why would we warn people about the boy?" she'd asked, when she thought Nathan couldn't hear.

"It's the responsible thing to do."

"It's like saying there's something wrong with him."

"It's saying that there's something different about him. There is! It's not a bad thing, but it's not a normal thing, and what does it hurt to give his teacher advance notice?"

"Do whatever you want. But I won't be there."

Mrs. Calmon was a short, plump, ruddy faced woman with brown hair tied into a tight bun.

"Are you sure he doesn't belong in a school for special needs children?" she'd asked.

"Nathan has no special needs," said Penny. "I just want to be sure he is treated with the same respect as every other child in the classroom."

"Much of that depends on Nathan himself, doesn't it? Respect is not distributed equally amongst the students. Every single year I will have one student--never more than one, but always one--who picks from his nose and eats the contents. That pupil does not receive the same amount of respect as the one who takes first prize at the science fair."

"Understood," said Penny. "Again, we're not asking for special treatment. I merely felt it was appropriate to warn you. We love the little rascal, but his appearance can be jarring."

Mrs. Calmon nodded. "Fair enough. You're a good aunt."

That was the story: Penny and Mary were Nathan's aunts. His parents had died, he'd been "moved around" a bit, and finally came to live with his aunts. Nathan didn't completely understand how everything had been arranged, but he did know that some papers weren't as authentic as they might be.

While they were discussing this story, he'd almost asked why they didn't just adopt him, but something told him that it wasn't a question that should be asked, that perhaps he didn't want to know the answer.

* * *

"Each desk has a piece of paper with a name on it," said Mrs. Calmon, as the children entered the classroom. "Find your name, and that will be your desk."

Nathan walked up and down the rows, searching for his name. There it was. Nathan Pepper. Back row, left corner. He sat down and ran his fingers along the top of his wooden desk, which was shiny and new.

The other students found their seats as well. About twenty of them, if he'd counted correctly, and since there were five rows of four, he was certain that he had. A freckle-faced little girl stuck her tongue out at him before sitting down in the desk in front of him, and a thin, sickly looking boy gave him a shy smile as he sat down to his right.

"Good morning, class. My name is Mrs. Calmon." She wrote it on the chalkboard. "We have a lot of learning ahead of us this year, so I hope you're all ready to pay attention. I will now have each of you come to the front of the class so you can tell the others your name, what you want to be when you grow up, and what you did on your summer vacation."

Public speaking? Already? What if she made him go first? What would he say?

"We'll start with you, Peter, and then work our way up and down the rows."

So, he was to go last. Such cruelty! The agony would be unbearable! Why couldn't she just let him get it over with?

Peter walked to the front of the classroom. "My name is Peter, I want to be a fireman, and over my summer vacation I set some things on fire."

"Very good, Peter. Helen?"

"My name is Helen, I want to be a maid, and over my summer vacation I chased away a stray dog."

"Very good, Helen. Gordon?"

"My name is Gordon, I want to be an astronaut, and over my summer vacation I took a rocket to the moon."

"Now, Gordon, are you telling the truth?"

"Yes, teacher."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, teacher. I was on the moon for three days."

"Gordon, you will now be the first person of the year to spend five minutes in the Corner of Ridicule. This is for students who deserve to be silently laughed at by their peers. Go sit on that bright red stool until I say to stop, and feel their eyes upon your back, judging you for your shameful foolishness."

Gordon hung his head and went to sit in the Corner of Ridicule.

The other students went up, one by one, as Nathan tried to keep his panic under control. "My name is Nathan" would be easy. That part he could handle. But what did he want to be when he grew up? A cowboy? A doctor? A zookeeper? The other kids were taking all of the good choices.

Maybe a banker. Yes, everybody liked a good banker.

Oh, his stomach was killing him.

What if Mrs. Calmon sent him to the Corner of Ridicule just for his teeth?

What if he threw up in front of all the kids, and then she sent him to the Corner of Ridicule?

He'd never imagined that school could be so difficult!

The other kids were moving too quickly. He'd never have time to think of something!

The sickly boy next to him went up to the front. "My name is Jamison, I want to be a magician when I grow up, and over the summer I stayed in the hospital."

"Very good, Jamison. Tammy?"

They were on his row! Would he get sent to the Corner of Ridicule if he ran shrieking from the room? He could feel his stomach bouncing around in there, trying to dislodge his breakfast. He couldn't do this! He couldn't!

Before he knew it, they were at the girl with freckles.

"My name is Beverly, I want to be a queen when I grow up, and over the summer I beat up my older brothers almost every single day."

"Now, Beverly, is that true?"

"It is. I'll beat up one of the boys in here if you need me to prove it. I'll do it right now."

"No, that won't be necessary. Very good, Beverly. Nathan?"

Beverly stuck out her tongue at Nathan as she returned to her desk. Nathan didn't like that at all. Maybe he could use that to delay his public humiliation. He raised his hand. "Teacher!"

"Yes, Nathan?"

"She stuck her tongue out at me."

"Beverly, did you stick your tongue out at Nathan?"

Beverly sat down at her desk. "I sure did."

"Nathan, do you think that being a tattletale is a path toward a fulfilling life?"

What was she talking about? Why wasn't she sending Beverly to the Corner of Ridicule? What was going on here?

"I asked you a question."

Was it a trick question? Was he supposed to say that, yes, being a tattletale was a path toward a fulfilling life, at which point she would say "You're absolutely right!" and give him a gold star?

"No, teacher."

"That's right. Nathan Pepper needs to worry about what Nathan Pepper is doing, and not expend valuable energy trying to get his classmates in trouble. Answer me this question, class: does anybody like a tattletale?"

"No," said the children in unison.

"If you behave like a tattletale too often, why, you might grow a real tail! Can you imagine going through life with a tail? Nathan, take over Gordon's shift in the Corner of Ridicule."

Nathan got up and sadly walked across the classroom. A girl whispered "Nathan the Tattletale!" and the children around her giggled.

He sat on the stool, feeling more ashamed and embarrassed than he had in his entire life.

And then he threw up.

TEN

Nathan decided that he hated school. Hated, hated, hated it. It was the worst thing ever to be invented. Only stupid people should have to go to it.

He never did have to say what he wanted to be when he grew up or what he had done over the summer, but that didn't make him feel any better. Nathan the Tattletale! What an awful name! If he'd known that nicknames would be bestowed so quickly, he would have taken action to be known as Nathan the Brave or Nathan the Quick-Witted or Nathan the Rat-Killer. Nathan the Tattletale? Even Fangboy was better!

Mrs. Calmon dismissed them for morning recess, and the other children happily scampered around the playground, playing on slides and teeter-totters and swings. Nathan stood against the brick wall of the school, sulking.

"Hello," said Jamison, leaning against the wall next to him. "I'm glad you threw up."

"I'm not."

"I throw up all the time. I was worried all morning that it would happen in front of everybody, which it did, but at least I wasn't the first."

"Yeah."

"What do you think of school so far?" Jamison asked.

"I hate it."

"Me too."

"They can keep me here, but I'm not going to learn anything," said Nathan.

"Me either. Not a thing."

"Whatever they teach me, I'll run straight home and forget it!"

"Me too! Me too!"

"Why did you spend the summer in the hospital?"

"Because I'm going to die."

"Are you?"

Jamison nodded. "I wish I weren't. They don't know when but it won't be long."

"I've never known anybody who was dying."

"Now you do. Are those your real teeth?"

"These?" Nathan tapped his front tooth. "No, these are joke teeth. I never take them out."

"Where'd you get them?"

"There's a store. I'll take you there someday."

Nathan the Liar...

"I'm only kidding," said Nathan. "They're my real teeth."

"Seriously?"

"I was born with them. One came out, see?"

"Do you like them?"

"I hate them. They're awful."

"I bet they make it easier to eat things. When my mother cooks meat it's so tough that you can barely bite through it, but I bet you could finish the meal in half the time."

"I suppose so."

They continued leaning against the school wall for a few moments.

"Do you ever use swear words?" asked Jamison.

"No. Do you?"

"No. But I will someday."

"Me too."

They leaned against the wall some more.

"Look! It's Nathan the Tattletale!" shouted Gordon, jumping off the swings and pointing at them.

"Shut up!" Jamison shouted back. "Go back to the moon!"

Gordon ran over to them. "I wasn't talking to you."

"I don't care. Nathan's my friend. If you talk to him, you're talking to me. Do you want to fight?"

"No. I'm sorry. My father told me that on my first day I should punch somebody to show everybody that I'm not one to be messed with, but that doesn't sound like fun at all. Can I lean against the wall with you?"

"Of course."

The three of them leaned against the wall for the remainder of recess. When they went back inside, none of them learned anything, especially the spelling lesson. They ate lunch together, learned nothing afterward, and at afternoon recess decided to swing from the jungle gym. Jamison fell off a few times, but didn't seem to mind.

"Get off those bars! It's my turn!"

Nathan, who was dangling upside-down, looked over to see Beverly, her arms folded over her chest.

"If you want to take a turn on the bars, you have to count," said Jamison. "When you count to forty-five, we'll get off and it'll be your turn."

"You'll get off now or I'll fight all of you!"

"Hey, everyone!" shouted a boy. "Beverly is going to beat up Nathan the Tattletale!"

The children all rushed over to the jungle gym. Nathan's stomachache immediately returned. He pulled himself right-side-up and began to climb down.

"Don't get off!" said Jamison. "She has to count."

Nathan climbed down until his feet were on the bottom bar. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "Count."

"I'll count the number of times I hit your face," said Beverly. "Get off and give me my turn."

Nathan lowered his foot and almost touched the ground with his toe, then quickly placed his foot back on the metal bar and smiled. "No. You have to count."

"Look at his teeth!" exclaimed the boy who'd shouted that there was going to be a fight.

Nathan put his hand over his mouth.

"They're the teeth of a monster!" shouted a girl. Nathan thought her name was Judy.

The children crowded around him. Nathan just knew that he was going to throw up again, and the taste still hadn't quite left his mouth from the first time.

"What's going on?" demanded a teacher.

Judy pointed at Nathan. "I think he's a prehistoric creature!"

"I'm not!"

"Look at them!" shouted a boy named Ronald, who wanted to be a scientist when he grew up and had spent his summer digging for gold. "They're incredible!"

"All right, enough of this," said the teacher. "Leave him alone."

"But they're the best teeth I've ever seen! He's a genius!"

"Your teeth don't make you a genius, you dullard of a boy. Hard work and study, that's what makes you a genius. Now clear out."

"Can I see them again?" asked Ronald, ignoring the teacher.

Feeling a million eyes on him, Nathan opened his mouth.

The kids "Ooooooh"-ed with admiration.

"Clear out or I'll cancel the rest of recess," the teacher warned. Most of the other kids reluctantly stepped away, though almost all of them continued to watch Nathan.

"I've never been so jealous," said Ronald. "You could fight crime with teeth like those!"

"Go away," said Jamison. "He was my friend first."

"And my friend second," said Gordon.

"All right, all right. But I'm going to invite him to my Halloween party in a couple of months."

Nathan couldn't believe it. They actually liked his teeth? Had he been hiding away a gift all this time...or were the other children at this school merely insane?

It didn't matter. They thought he could fight crime!

Nathan almost felt as if he were glowing. His teeth, the bane of his very existence, were appreciated by his fellow students. What a glorious thing! Nothing could--

"I told you to get off the bars," said Beverly, grabbing his arm and pulling him off the jungle gym. She shoved him to the ground.

One punch, two punches, three punches, and then Nathan didn't feel like getting back up.

"Hey, everybody!" shouted Ronald. "Nathan just got beat up by a girl!"

"And he's crying!"

"What a baby!"

Beverly gave him one last punch. "The next time I ask you to get off the bars, you'd better do it!" She brushed her hands off on her pants and walked away.

Nathan lay on the dirt and cried. He didn't think he was bleeding, and he'd received much more violent beatings from Bernard Steamspell, but he couldn't stop the tears.

"I can't be your friend anymore," said Gordon, leaping from the jungle gym and heading off in search of alternate acquaintances.

Jamison climbed down from the bars and extended his hand toward Nathan. "It's okay," he said. "She looked tough. I thought I even saw a muscle."

Nathan wiped his eyes then let Jamison help him up. "Can I die with you?"

* * *

"So how was school?" Mary asked when Nathan got into the car.

"It was bad, then it was good, then it was bad, then it was good, and then bad again. Do I have to go back?"

"Yes. What did you learn?"

"I learned how to blow things up."

"What?"

"That's what they teach at that school. They gave us all dynamite and showed us how to use it. Then Mrs. Calmon handed me a great big knife and said that it's okay to stab people if they're unattractive."

"Oh, she didn't either."

"She did! And she said that tomorrow she's going to teach us how to drown people with only a little bit of water, barely enough to fill a glass. I'll be able to kill anyone I want when the school year is over."

"What did you really learn?"

Nathan shrugged. "She showed us places on a map, but I didn't care about any of them."

"Well, that's a silly attitude. What if you wanted to go to those places? You wouldn't know where they were."

"They were all dumb places."

"How would you know that if you didn't care about them?" She stopped at a red light and looked at Nathan more closely. "Why do you have a mark on your face?"

"I got beat up at recess! And I wasn't doing anything!"

"Who beat you up?"

"Her--his name was...I forget his name."

"Why did you say 'her'?"

"I didn't."

"Did you get beat up by a girl?"

"None of your business!"

"Nathan! Don't speak to me like that. Why did she hit you?"

"I don't know."

"Should I speak to your teacher?"

"No! Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course we can, Nathan. We have a guest coming for dinner tonight."

Nathan was suddenly horrified. "It's not Beverly, is it?"

"Is she the one who hit you?"

"Is it her? Is it really?" If Beverly tried to attack him in his own home, he'd show her. He'd dig a pit in the living room and cover it with a rug and as soon as she stepped inside she'd plummet. He wouldn't line the bottom with spikes or anything like that, but if he could coax a tiger inside...

"Her name is Sharon. You'll like her. She's very nice."

"Where did she come from?"

"She came in to the restaurant this afternoon for a late lunch. She ordered the lamb, which I felt was a mistake, and I successfully steered her toward the pasta with blackened chicken."

"Why is she coming over if she's eaten already?"

"You're a very rude little boy today, aren't you?"

Nathan realized that he was indeed being rude. It wasn't Mary's fault that he'd had a terrible first day at school, except for her contribution toward forcing him to go. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sure tomorrow will be better."

"Of course it will. I think you'll really like Sharon."

Nathan pouted in his room for a full three minutes after they got home, but then he decided that he had better ways to spend his time than wallowing in self-pity. He'd made a friend, after all. Jamison didn't care that he'd been beaten up by a girl.

Mary was correct. Nathan did like Sharon. She was very pretty; in fact, Nathan didn't recall ever having seen a woman in real life who looked the way women looked in the movies. She wore a fancy dress and makeup, and both Penny and Mary apologized for the way they looked and for the condition of their home, despite the fact that Nathan thought they both looked nice as well, and they'd cleaned the entire house top to bottom, including the rain gutters, though Nathan doubted that Sharon would inspect them.

Sharon laughed a lot, and they all played games. Mary also laughed often, giggling loudly at all of Sharon's jokes, even the ones that Nathan thought could have been funnier. Every once in a while Nathan noticed Penny looking a bit sad, which was strange since everybody was having so much fun.

Nathan was sent to bed half an hour earlier than usual. He wasn't happy about it, but he didn't protest. He was tired anyway.

ELEVEN

Despite their pledge to one another, Nathan and Jamison found themselves learning things in school. Nathan didn't like math very much, but he did very well on his spelling, geography, history, and reading tests. Beverly stuck her tongue out at him all the time, but Nathan never told on her. He considered very carefully the idea of squishing something against the back of her head, possibly an egg or a slice of moldy tomato, and ultimately decided that this would be unwise on all levels.

Penny asked if he might want to invite his new friend over after school, and Nathan agreed that it was a fine idea. Jamison said that his parents didn't like for him to visit friends on school nights because the excitement increased the chances that he might be dead the next morning, but that the weekend would be perfect.

Sharon came over for dinner once more that week. The other nights, Mary went over to Sharon's house and she didn't come home. Those nights, Penny was more affectionate with Nathan than usual, giving him kisses on the cheek and asking him if he wanted to play just one more game of Exploding Nines even though it was past his bedtime.

When Jamison came over, they dug for worms, and put Jamison's toy soldiers through a global apocalypse, and played catch with an orange to see how many times they could throw it before it started to leak.

Over the next couple of months, Nathan did not stay out of the Corner of Ridicule altogether, but he spent less time there than some of his classmates (though, admittedly, more time than some others). Sometimes he thought he deserved it and sometimes he felt that he'd been falsely accused, but overall it was not such a bad thing.

Beverly beat up Nathan on three more occasions. She never beat up any of the other boys, even when they were teasing her, and the third time she beat him up she'd specifically sought him out at recess after a boy that Nathan barely even knew called her Godzilla. Though he didn't tell his teacher, he did tell Penny and Mary and sometimes Sharon all about it. He tried to instill a sense of outrage in them, but all they did was smile.

Near the end of October, Ronald came up to him after school and pressed an envelope into his hand. "It's an invitation to my Halloween party," he explained.

"Where's his?" Nathan asked, gesturing to Jamison.

"He can't come."

"Why not?"

"My mom says that I'm only allowed to invite ten people because she doesn't want to have to buy apples for the whole class."

"Then make him one of the ten."

"He doesn't really fit in."

"It's a Halloween party, isn't it? What fits in better at a Halloween party than a dying boy?"

Jamison nodded. "I could die right there, during the party."

"Maybe he fits," Ronald admitted. "But I don't like him very much."

"Well, your mother will just have to allow eleven. If he's not coming, I'm not."

Ronald sighed. "All right," he said, handing an invitation to Jamison. "Cross out Gordon's name and write in your own. It's a costume party, so wear something scary."

"Thank you," said Jamison, after Ronald left. "I've never been to a Halloween party before."

"Neither have I. What should we be?"

"The last time I was in the hospital they took me on a tour of the burn ward. People aren't happy there. We could go as two brothers who were burned so badly that their bodies stuck together."

"Is Halloween supposed to be that gruesome?"

"It can be. Last year I dressed as a boy whose guts were all on the outside. I used real guts, too."

"Human ones?"

"No, not human ones. What human would donate their guts for a Halloween costume? But there was cow in there, and some goat. I got a book from the library and I made sure the parts went where they were supposed to be. I'd never gotten so much candy in my life, though afterward I didn't feel like eating any of it."

"That sounds disgusting. Let's not use real guts."

"I could go as a suicidal boy. I'd look sad the whole time and carry around a big bottle of pills."

"No."

"You could go dressed as a donkey, and I could go dressed as a boy whose face had been crushed in by a donkey kick."

"You're very dark."

"Well, what do you want to be?"

Nathan thought about it. "How about a knight in armor?"

"Knights aren't scary!"

"They have swords."

"So? Nobody lies awake at night worried that a knight is going to get them."

"I don't want to be anything scary."

"Fine. Be a ballerina dancing on rainbows, then."

"I could be a scarecrow."

"Or go as a kitten. A harmless little kitten. We could get you some pink yarn to play with, and you could purr and roll around to have your tummy rubbed, and you could make squeaky mewing sounds. I don't think you understand Halloween."

* * *

When Penny picked him up from school, she smiled, even though she didn't seem happy. "Did you have a good day?"

"It was all right. I got invited to a Halloween party."

"That's nice. Mary and I always enjoyed carving jack-o-lanterns."

"Will Mary be home tonight?"

"She said she'll stop by to tuck you in bed and give you a kiss."

"Will Sharon be with her?"

"I suppose so. Do you like Sharon?"

Nathan nodded. "Yes. She's always very nice. Don't you like her?"

"Oh, I like her very much. She makes my sister very happy. But she doesn't live around here. She won't stay forever. She may not stay much longer at all."

"That would be sad for Mary."

"No, not for Mary."

"What do you mean?"

Penny just shook her head. "So what are you going to dress up as for Halloween?"

"I don't know."

* * *

Mary did come home, by herself, and she and Nathan put together part of a puzzle they'd almost completed. She tucked him in bed and kissed him on the forehead and left.

* * *

Nathan opened his eyes, and Penny was sitting at the foot of his bed.

The room was mostly dark. Penny held a half-full glass of wine and stared silently out the window. It was sort of creepy, and Nathan tried not to move or make a sound.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" she asked, a few moments later.

"No."

"Of course I did. It's okay, you can tell me when I did something wrong." She took a sip from her glass and swished the liquid around in her mouth before she swallowed. "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

Nathan looked out the window. The moon, a quarter-moon, didn't look any different from any other night. "Yes."

"I shouldn't have woken you. You have school tomorrow. I bet you have a test. Do you have a test?"

"Just a quiz."

"Well, quizzes are important, too. You need your sleep."

She drank up the rest of the wine but made no move to leave.

"Penny...?"

"It's odd that you call me Penny, isn't it? From now on you should call me Aunt Penny. Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Or mother. Would it really be so wrong to call me mother?"

"No."

"You won't leave me, will you, Nathan?"

"I won't leave you."

"Not ever, right?"

Nathan didn't know what to say. He was torn between wanting to give her a great big hug and wanting to pull the blanket up over his head.

"I should adopt you. Properly adopt you. I don't know why I haven't."

She looked out at the moon for a few more moments, then patted his leg.

"I'm going to let you get back to sleep," said Penny. "You need your sleep."

And then she was gone.

* * *

Nathan thought about this all day at school, which meant that he had trouble concentrating on what Mrs. Calmon was saying, which meant that he was sent to the corner twice. He had trouble concentrating there, too. Jamison tried to talk to him about the Halloween party, but Nathan wasn't interested in discussing it.

It was Mary's turn to pick him up from school, and when she did, he decided to be blunt. "Are you leaving us?"

"Nathan," said Mary, "it is considered polite to ask somebody how their day was before jumping into a question like that."

"How was your day?"

"It was tiring but otherwise not too bad. How was yours?"

"Awful. Are you moving away?"

"This may be difficult for a boy your age to understand, but sometimes people feel a certain way about each other and they want to spend the rest of their lives together. Loving one person that way doesn't mean you love other people any less. Sharon's perfect, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't say that she's perfect."

"Don't be a rascal. I think she's perfect. Just like I think you're perfect."

"But are you moving away?"

"Yes."

"Penny doesn't want you to leave."

"I know that."

"I don't want you to leave, either."

"You should. You'll have a bigger room."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"What? Of course you..." She let out a loud, sharp laugh. "Nathan, I'm only moving out of the house. Sharon and I are buying a small home in the valley. We'll be twenty minutes away. You can visit whenever you want."

"Really? Then...then why is Penny so sad?"

"It can still be a sad thing. But I'll always take care of you. You'll just have to help take care of Penny."

"I can do that. I promise."

* * *

Nathan decided to go to the Halloween party as the Pied Piper of Hamelin, He carried Mary's flute and dragged along a long line of rats he'd made out of brown paper and fur that had been shed by a dog in the neighborhood. Jamison had insisted that this wasn't a scary costume, but Nathan argued that the Pied Piper had lured an entire village worth of children to their demise and was in fact a figure of great terror and evil. Jamison went as a wolfman.

The first thing they did was bob for apples. Nathan felt that there were many downsides to his teeth and very few upsides, but one positive aspect is that they made him extremely adept at bobbing for apples. He came up with an apple on his very first try, and the other children applauded, except for one boy, Will, who just sat there, looking annoyed and angry. He was in Nathan's class, but they'd never spoken except once when Will had tried to copy his homework.

Then Ronald turned out the lights, shone a flashlight on his face, and told them a story about a killer with a metal hook for a hand. The killer snuck up on some unsuspecting kids who were listening to music in their car, and just as he was about to open their door the kids started the engine and drove away, popping the hook-hand right off. The killer ran around screaming and bleeding from his hand, and just when it seemed that he might bleed to death, the kids remembered that they'd forgotten something and accidentally ran him over.

Everybody loved the story except for Will, who just sat there and glared at Nathan. Nathan wished he would quit doing that. It was Halloween--shouldn't this be the one night that people didn't stare at his teeth?

"What do you want?" Nathan finally asked. He was having a fantastic time, and didn't want Will to spoil it.

"I want you to leave."

"Hey, knock it off," said Ronald. "This is my party and you won't ruin it for me. Nathan was invited fair and square."

"Oh, yeah?" Will stood up. He was the biggest child in Mrs. Calmon's class, which made him much larger than Nathan. "I think he should be uninvited."

"Why?" asked Nathan.

"Because your mom is disgusting."

Nathan stiffened and clenched his fists. "My mother died."

"You know who I mean. My dad said that one of your moms goes around doing the most disgusting things, right out there in public. He said he saw her down by the lake, walking with another woman, holding her hand where anybody could see!"

"So what? Sharon is very nice. Why shouldn't Mary hold her hand?"

"Because it makes people sick is why!"

Nathan couldn't remember ever having felt such rage, not even toward Bernard Steamspell. "Take it back."

"I won't. My dad said that he can't even imagine what horrible things they do when they're done holding hands! Your mom is a nasty beast."

"Take it back!"

"Nasty beast!"

And then Nathan was upon him, tackling Will to the floor and raining punches on the larger boy's chest. Ronald ran upstairs for his mother while the other boys cheered. Some shouted "Go, Nathan, shut him up!" while others shouted in favor of Will.

"Take it back!" Nathan was so furious that he thought his eyes might be glowing red, but he also knew that Penny, Mary, and Sharon wouldn't be happy about him fighting like this, even in their defense. Four or five more punches and he'd stop.

"I'll never take it back!" Will punched him in the jaw, so hard that Nathan felt something give way behind his lip. He spat out some blood and a pointed tooth. "Nasty vulgar beast!"

"Don't say that about her!"

"That's what she is!"

"She is not!"

Will punched Nathan in the chin. His vision went completely white for a second, and as Will's fist slid past him, Nathan bit him on the arm.

Will screamed as his teeth sunk in, then pulled away so quickly that a small piece of arm came off in Nathan's mouth.

"Nathan!" Ronald's mother ran down the stairs. "What have you done?"

"He bit me!" Will wailed. "He bit me on the arm!"

Nathan didn't know what to do with the (small) piece of Will's arm that was in his mouth. Spitting it out would seem to call much more attention to it than he wanted, while the idea of swallowing it was stomach-churning and cannibalistic. He gagged and spat it onto the floor.

"I didn't mean to--!"

"Look at the blood!" Ronald's mother screamed. "I've never seen such a horror show!"

"I'm a goner!" said Will. "He's murdered me. I just know it!"

Ronald's mother scooped the boy into her arms. "Henry!" she called upstairs. "Call an ambulance! And the police!"

The police? She wasn't really going to call the police on him, was she?

She looked back at her son. "Ronald! Get away from him! Come with me! Now! All of you, follow me upstairs!"

Ronald's mother ran up the stairs with Will. All of the other boys except Jamison followed her. A couple of them were also screaming, though none as loud as Will.

Nathan plopped down into his chair. "I didn't mean to do it. We were just fighting and he made me so angry. If he hadn't pulled his arm away nothing would have come off. I wasn't trying to hurt him like that."

"I'm glad you did it," said Jamison. "He deserved it, saying those things."

"But what if I go to jail?"

"They don't send kids to jail." Jamison rolled his eyes at the foolishness of that statement, but then began to look quite concerned. "Do they?"

TWELVE

"Little boys fight all the time," said Officer Danbury. "It's what they do. If they didn't fight, they'd be girls."

There were a lot of them crowded into the police station. Officer Danbury, Nathan, Penny, Mary, Sharon, Ronald's mom, Will (with his arm bandaged up), and Will's parents.

"However," Officer Danbury continued, "this was no ordinary fight, because one of them was armed, the same as if he'd been carrying a knife or a gun." He looked at Will's mother. "If your son were wandering around town with a gun and he went and shot another boy, you'd expect him to suffer some consequences, wouldn't you?"

"I certainly would!"

"And if he had a knife, and he went around stabbing people just as freely as you please, you'd want to see justice served, right?"

"Indeed!"

"Then it's settled." Officer Danbury turned his attention to Nathan. "You're going to jail, young man."

"But that's not fair!" said Penny.

"Not fair? The law hasn't got anything to do with what's fair. Your boy is a danger to society. Truth be told, I'm uncomfortable standing this close to him even with all of you around to serve as a barrier between us. What if he'd torn out that poor boy's throat? That little bandage Will has on wouldn't do much good toward treating a gaping throat wound. Will, do you really think you'd be standing here right now if he'd torn out your throat?"

"I bet he wanted to!" said Will.

"Of course he did. I know a menace when I see one. That is to say, now that he's committed an act of violence I see him for the menace that he is. Jail will straighten him out, or at least give him a good place to rot."

"No!" shouted Mary. "He was defending my honor!"

"Clearly it was not honor he should have defended," said Officer Danbury. "Ten days in jail for the boy. That's my sentence."

"But you're not a judge!" Penny protested.

"Fourteen days! And if you're not careful you'll join him in his cell!"

"I want to join him!"

"Then fourteen days and he'll have no visitors! Except, of course, for the guard who brings him bread and water, but that guard will not offer him any human comfort!"

Jail! Nathan couldn't believe it. Only scoundrels went to jail!

"Jail is too good for him!" declared Will's mother. "He should be banished!"

"Now, now, some jails may indeed be too good for him, but I assure you that ours is not."

"He should be executed!" said Will.

"Oh, now, don't be goofy, we're not going to execute a seven-year-old boy for biting somebody. Because of your ridiculous comment I'm knocking a day off his sentence." Officer Danbury pointed his index finger at Nathan and rotated it in a circle. "Turn around so I can handcuff you."

"Too bad you don't have fang-cuffs," said Will.

"He's down to twelve! Are you trying to suspend his sentence entirely?"

Nathan turned around and Officer Danbury snapped the handcuffs on him. As Will laughed and the sisters cried, Nathan was led to his cell.

* * *

The cell was cold and dark and smelled bad, but Nathan felt certain that he would still be alive at the end of his sentence. He'd survived all by himself in the forest, and he'd been a year younger then, so he expected to be fine.

It wasn't his fault. If he'd been born with normal teeth, he could have bitten Will for saying those mean things and nobody would have cared.

But he shouldn't have bitten him.

He shouldn't have gone to the party at all.

Nathan lay on his pile of hay ("No cot for you!" Officer Danbury had said) and alternated poking his tongue between his freshly knocked-out tooth and the one he'd lost naturally. His new tooth hadn't started to grow in yet. He wondered when he'd be able to feel the point.

* * *

Penny and Mary went home and cried in each other's arms. "I would have bitten the little worm's arm myself if I'd been so equipped!" said Penny. "I hope he fails to keep the wound adequately cleaned!"

Mary told Sharon that she couldn't move away to live with her, not until Nathan got out of jail, because Penny needed the company. Sharon told Mary that she understood completely, but that she'd decided to move back to where she'd grown up, far from there.

"I can't go with you!" said Mary. "Not that far! Won't you please stay?"

Sharon shook her head sadly and said that she wanted to stay, but that she just couldn't. She left the next morning.

Will poked at his bandage and thought about Nathan sitting in jail. Though it was a happy thought for him, it didn't make him any less angry. He'd been bitten by somebody who'd been beaten up by a girl! "I hope he dies in there," he'd say to anybody who would listen, and a lot of people were interested in what he had to say. "He deserves awful things to happen! Him and his disgusting, vulgar mother!"

Three times a day, Penny and Mary would ask how Nathan was doing, and Officer Danbury would assure them that Nathan had not perished. The guard only checked on Nathan once a day, but Officer Danbury was reasonably confident that he wasn't lying to the sisters the other two times each day he answered their question.

Will was sent to the Corner of Ridicule every day, but he didn't care. He loved to talk about how much he disliked Nathan. He did nothing else at recess, even when the teeter-totter was available. "Somebody should burn down their house!" he said, often.

Nathan's classmate Peter liked the idea of setting fire to a house, though he only ever burned small things, and his father had taught him "If it's alive, don't burn it." He could envision the flames dancing all over the roof, but would never, ever do something so cruel.

It was never officially proven who did do it. Peter's father had heard his son talk about it, and thought it sounded like an excellent way to spend an evening, and spoke of it in a purely hypothetical sense to several of his co-workers at the factory.

They shared this idea with still more people, in a purely "We would never do this, but it would serve them right for having a vicious boy like that!" manner. It took less than one full day for the idea to reach nearly everybody in town, and almost all of them agreed that they would never do it.

On the eighth day of Nathan's sentence, while Penny worked at the library and Mary managed her restaurant, somebody broke into their home with matches and gasoline. Or perhaps it was two people, working together--nobody ever knew for sure except for the guilty parties, who were never caught and never confessed.

Penny was helping a little girl find a book about dead clowns when her employer frantically beckoned for her to take a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Penny!" It was her next-door neighbor, Eunice. "It's a shocking thing! I'm looking out the window at your house right now and it's a raging inferno!"

"No!"

"I've never seen so much fire concentrated into one place in my life! I called the firemen as soon as the roof collapsed in flames. I shouted 'Save the dog! Save the dog!' and they ran in, but then I remembered that you didn't have any pets, and when they finally came out they were very unhappy to have risked their lives to save a dog that didn't even exist, and they said that for all they cared the house could just burn right down to the ground, so for that I apologize. I hope you didn't have anything nice inside. Oh, the north wall just went down. It's very sad."

Penny was given permission to return home immediately after helping the little girl find the book she wanted (The Clown Who Frowned When He Drowned). By the time she reached her home, it could no longer, technically, be called a "home," but rather a pile of burning rubble.

"At least there was no dog inside to perish," a fireman told her.

Mary arrived home (a term that will continue to be used despite its lack of accuracy) and fell to her knees.

The sisters had always gotten along well, but one point of contention had existed between them: Penny's distrust of banks. Mary felt that they should keep their lifetime of savings safely in a bank, while Penny thought that the money they had worked so hard for would be much safer in a steel safe in Penny's room.

The safe was expensive, fireproof, and came with a guarantee that if the contents were in any way damaged, they would be replaced (or their sentimental value would be paid for such things as photographs, where it would be impractical to regress the subjects to their former ages in order to recreate the pictures). The Invulnerable Safe Company, owned by Lawrence Wicket, had even provided a fancy certificate stating this. Unfortunately, Mr. Wicket had retired and was at this very moment deep in the jungle, enjoying a treasure hunting expedition he'd financed by selling unreliable safes that quickly melted in fire.

It is also not known who set the next two fires, the ones that burned down the restaurant and the library. It might have been the same person who burnt down Penny and Mary's home, or it might have been somebody who appreciated the results.

Either way, they'd lost everything.

Officer Danbury, who was not entirely without empathy, allowed the sisters to visit Nathan in his cell on the last day of his imprisonment. They threw their arms around him and sobbed.

"Don't cry," he told them. "I don't like it here, but it's my last day and I've fared much worse in the past."

They told him about the fires, and Nathan just sat there on his cold stone floor, stunned. Their home, burned to the ground? The restaurant, gone? All that food wasted?

"Didn't they at least take out the books before they burned the library?" he asked.

"No," said Mary. "They burned them all."

Nathan could not even conceive such a thing. "What's to become of us?"

"We have no home, no job, and no money," said Penny. "Mary and I will be moving into the Poor House."

The Poor House? It couldn't be! The legendary Poor House was the most dreadful place imaginable, and grown-ups only lived there through the fault of their children!

"All right, you've told him," said Officer Danbury, who was not entirely without empathy but had very little of it. "Off to the Poor House with you. Those rat traps won't empty themselves."

As Nathan sat in his cell all alone, he wished he could make himself unborn. Nobody needed him--not if having him around meant losing everything you owned. Why had he bit Will? Why hadn't he merely broken his arm?

Would Penny and Mary let him back into their lives, or would they just leave him in jail, where he couldn't ruin things for anybody else?

If they did come to pick him up, perhaps he'd stay here. "It's very comfortable," he'd say, propping his feet up against the wall. "Yes, I think I'll grow old here."

One hour before Nathan was due to be set free, Officer Danbury opened the door to his cell. A man stood next to him. He was a tall man, dressed in a black suit, with thick black eyebrows, a thin black mustache, and a short black beard. He wore glasses and carried a cane. The man looked at Nathan, right into his eyes, and it filled him with a strong sense of unease.

"There he is," said Officer Danbury, gesturing to Nathan.

"Thank you for pointing him out," said the man. "Otherwise I might never have figured out which little boy in the otherwise empty cell you'd brought me to find."

Officer Danbury looked offended by this, but said nothing. The man stepped into the cell. He had the look of somebody who might cheerfully find his employment at the gallows. Was he here to strangle Nathan?

"You know why I'm here," he said. "Go on, open your mouth and let me see them."

He was a tall man, perhaps the tallest one Nathan had ever seen. Nathan saw no possible benefits and many possible repercussions if he refused, so he opened his mouth and let the man peer inside.

The man clapped his hands together with delight. "Fantastic! If that sight were to appear in front of my eyes before I shut them for the night, such nightmares would I have!" Then he stepped back, regarded Nathan, and frowned. "The rest of you is about as scary as a baby duck on a velvet pillow. That won't do. Make a scary face for me."

"I don't want to be scary," said Nathan.

"Do as you're told!" said Officer Danbury.

The man looked back at him. "Don't snap at the boy like an impatient simpleton! This is a performance." He returned his attention to Nathan. "You don't have to be scary, I merely want you to act scary. You can do that for me, right?"

"I don't know."

"Of course you can. All boys your age enjoy throwing a good scare into people, and you have more raw material to work with than most. Unleash your inner predator. If you scare me, I'll give you a shiny new coin fresh out of my pocket."

A coin merely for scaring somebody? That sounded too good to be true. Nathan scrunched up his face and bared his teeth.

"Make a frightening noise," the man instructed. "A growling sound. Something like 'Rrrarrr.'"

Nathan growled at him.

"Outstanding! I was almost compelled to clutch at my heart." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin, which he pressed into Nathan's hand. "Spend it on whatever you like. I have more, many more, and could keep handing them to you, if you thought you could make that face and that noise on a regular basis. Doesn't that sound like a lark?"

"It doesn't, really."

"Such disrespect!" shouted Officer Danbury. "Do you not realize to whom you're speaking?"

"Enough!" The man gave the officer a dismissive wave. "Your mouth opens and closes, yet the sounds that spew forth contribute nothing worthwhile! Begone, dullard!"

Officer Danbury puffed out his chest and looked as if he were going to protest. Then he unpuffed his chest and sheepishly walked out of the area.

"It was impolite of me not to introduce myself earlier," said the man, extending his hand. "My name is Professor Charleston Kleft."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Nathan, even though he wasn't quite certain that he was pleased to meet him at all. He shook his hand. Kleft had a firm, almost painfully tight grip.

"Nathan, I'm going to offer you an opportunity that few boys ever receive. Do you like adventure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you like thrills?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like to travel the globe, eating the finest foods, having your choice of the prettiest girls when you're old enough to appreciate them?"

"I guess so."

"You guess so? That's hardly the degree of enthusiasm I'd expect from somebody whose life I'm going to change for the better. You'll be the envy of everyone you meet. People will punch themselves in the head from the frustration of knowing that they aren't you. You'll hear somebody bragging that he's been to dozens of places in his life, and you'll be able to laugh in his face and tell him that you've been to hundreds of places in yours."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Nathan.

"Simply be a thespian. An actor. Provide a paying audience with some much needed entertainment after a hard day."

"But I don't want to leave Penny and Mary."

"Ah, yes, the ladies who take care of you. Am I to understand that they've fallen on hard times?"

"Yes, sir."

"A pity. I'm certain it wasn't your fault. Tell me this, Nathan, how do you feel you could best benefit these poor ladies? By continuing to sponge off them in their time of hardship, or by going off into the world? You would not only lessen the burden of the amount of food you eat and the amount of space you take up, but you'd be able to send them money every single month. Imagine the look of delight on their faces as they opened up a package filled to the bursting point with coins! That seems to me like something that might make up for the wrongdoing one might have done in the past. Do you agree?"

"Yes," said Nathan. His mouth had gone completely dry. "I believe I do."

"Wonderful! You have about fifty minutes left in your sentence, but I'm sure that our bumbling officer friend won't object to letting you go a bit early. Since your possessions have all burned, there's nothing to pack, and we'll be on our way immediately."

"We'll stop to say goodbye to Penny and Mary, right?"

Kleft's expression turned grim. "I can understand why you'd want to, but I'm afraid that isn't a wise idea. Women of that sort often object to a sinister man in black taking away their children. They'd beg you to stay, and you might stay, and then you'd be right back to being a burden upon them."

"But I have to at least thank them."

"What kind of thanks should you give them? Considerate, loving thanks of the sort I'm proposing, or selfish, mean-spirited thanks? You've driven them to the Poor House. Do you want to drive them to the grave?"

"No. I want to be good to them. But what about my friend Jamison? He's dying, and would want to see me before I leave and he expires."

"A true friend would contact the sisters and tell them that I'm taking you away, and then where would we be?"

"I guess you're right."

Kleft grinned. "Come with me, then."

"All right. I will."

"You will have a grand adventure, I promise." He took Nathan's hand and led him out of the cell. "By the way, I hope you're not afraid of spiders."

THIRTEEN

As they left the police station, Professor Kleft handed Officer Danbury a small leather pouch that jingled. Nathan thought that it must be a wonderful thing to have so many coins to spare, and couldn't wait to send lots of them to Penny and Mary. They'd be so happy!

A black coach waited outside. It had two horses to pull it, and in the driver's seat sat a man with flesh so tight that he almost looked like a skeleton. The man gazed at Nathan, appearing as if he might snarl.

"May I pet the horses?" Nathan asked Kleft.

"You may not. This is your new life. You must learn to let go of such childish frivolities as affection. Get in."

Nathan felt an aura of dread emanating from inside the coach, as if he might pull back the cover and have eight corpses tumble out. He hesitated.

"Go on," said Kleft, tapping at the cover with the end of his cane. "There's nothing to fear in there. A boy without courage is like a bat without rabies."

Nathan pulled back the cover and was very pleased by his good fortune when not a single corpse fell out. He climbed inside the coach, which had a soft, shiny cushion upon which to sit. Kleft climbed in after him and sat across from him.

"Are you excited?" asked Kleft as the driver cracked his whip and the coach began to move.

"Yes, sir. I've never been this close to a horse before."

"You know what our ancestors said about horses, don't you?"

"No, sir."

"Well, it was nothing good." Kleft picked up an oversized book from the seat, rested it on his lap, then opened it to a spot about halfway through. "I write about all of my adventures in this book, which will join the thirteen similar books I have already filled. For what use are thrilling adventures if you don't allow others to live vicariously through them? Therefore, I will ask that you remain silent as I write, for concentration is a difficult commodity to obtain in a life as busy as mine."

He took out a pencil and began to write in his book. Nathan had a million questions he wanted to ask, but he didn't want to pester his savior, so he settled for sitting there silently and trying not to fidget too much.

It was not a short journey. They rode all day. When the horses grew too tired to continue, Kleft joked that they should shoot them and purchase new horses. At least Nathan thought he was joking. The driver explained that he didn't know any place in the area to purchase new horses, and Kleft looked somewhat annoyed by this, and went into an angry rant about how horses should wait on humans and not vice-versa, but still, Nathan was relatively certain that he'd been joking about shooting them.

As darkness crept over the land, they pulled off to the side of the road and the driver built a small fire, which he used to warm up some stew. It was better than the meals Nathan had eaten in jail, but not as good as what he'd enjoyed with the sisters.

"Where are we headed?" Nathan asked.

"I've already told you. To travel the earth."

"But do we have stops in mind along the way?"

Kleft scooped up a particularly large spoonful of stew, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed, dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin, cleared his throat, and then ate another large spoonful of stew. When he'd finished that and dabbed at his mouth again, he spoke. "It seems strange to me that a boy who was not, to the best of my knowledge, made responsible for driving the horses seems so concerned about the destination toward which those horses are supposed to be headed."

"But I'm going with them."

"Yes."

"So that's my destination as well."

"Is it?"

Nathan had never used foul language in his life, and he'd certainly never expected to find himself using it in the presence of a grown-up, yet it spilled forth from his mouth before he realized what he was saying: "What the hell are you talking about?"

Nathan cringed, expecting Kleft's response to involve a slap delivered with such force that half of Nathan's face popped off on impact, but instead Kleft ate another spoonful of stew. "Sharp teeth and sharp tongue, eh? Your time as a convict has taught you to curse like a sailor. I'll ask that you keep such filth-ridden obscenity inside your own head from now on, for it burns the ears of my driver. See how he sweats?"

There comes a time in the life of most little boys when they leave the world of childhood behind and become a grown-up. For some boys, this happens quickly, as when four-year-old Edwin Malley saw his pet monkey hang itself. For some little boys, this takes a long time, as when fifty-three year-old Duane Whipton was struck on the back of the head with a shovel by his mother to accelerate the process of his going out to get a job.

As Nathan sat there, eating stew, he realized that Kleft most likely did not have his best interests in mind, and might very well be criminally insane. He couldn't let Kleft think that he was some weak-willed child who would let himself be taken somewhere unknown, probably to be eaten.

He looked the professor straight in the eye and said the worst word he knew, one that began with D and rhymed with "ham."

"I hope," said Kleft, "that you are referring to a barrier used to obstruct the flow of water."

"I was not." Nathan suddenly felt very nervous. Had he gone too far?

"Had I known you were such a vulgar lad, I'd have brought along a bar of soap for you to choke upon. Listen to me carefully, young one. Your audience wishes to see flesh-crawling horror! Mind-scarring terror! Gasp-inducing shocks! But they do not want to hear a pre-pubescent boy utter expletives best suited to a dogcatcher!"

"Do dogcatchers curse a lot?"

"Even more than plumbers."

"I want to know where we're going," said Nathan. "And I want to know what I'll be doing there."

"Shall I harm him?" asked the driver.

Kleft shook his head. "Information is power. Clearly this boy has already learned that life lesson. Very well, Nathan. We are traveling two days south of here to meet up with the other members of Professor Kleft's Parade of the Macabre. You will show off your beautiful fangs to spectators who will pay me a half-coin each to gape in horror at your ghastly visage."

"I don't want to do that," said Nathan.

"Of course you don't. Thus the control of information. But what are you going to do now? Walk home?"

"I might."

"If you try to leave, my driver will shoot you in the back. Then I will have to console him through his grief over murdering a child. You will ruin his life. Another selfish act on your part."

Nathan looked at the driver, who nodded.

"I demand that you take me back home."

"I decline your demand. Anything else?"

"I demand to know what's in this stew."

"Don't you like it?"

"It has an odd texture."

"It's made from the standard animals. You're just picky."

"What's this piece?"

"Hold it up to the light of the fire."

Nathan held his spoon closer to the flames.

"It's beef."

"No, it's not."

"It's not the part of the cow you would normally eat, but I promise you, it's cow. And I recommend that you eat your fill, because your personality has fallen out of favor with me, and I may stop feeding you at any time without notice."

"You're a terrible man," said Nathan.

"I never said I wasn't. Go ahead, think back through our conversations and try to recall an instance where I said otherwise. I'll wait."

Three separate plans of action occurred to Nathan. In the first, he hurled his bowl of stew directly into Kleft's face, and then ran from the coach as quickly as possible. At the end of this scenario, the driver shot Nathan in the back, so he decided that it was a poor plan.

In the second plan of action, he flung the bowl of stew at the driver instead. This plan assumed that only the driver was carrying a weapon, meaning that it would be a spectacular failure if it turned out that Kleft was also in possession of a gun, or a knife suitable for throwing, or a dart, or a medium-sized rock, or even a bowl of stew that could be thrown in the same manner as the bowl Nathan had thrown at the driver. Since Kleft was obviously holding a bowl of stew, the second plan of action was also rejected as inadequate.

In the third plan of action, Nathan threw no bowls of stew at anybody, got back into the coach, and waited for a much better opportunity to escape. This struck Nathan as the wisest of the three.

"All right," he said. "I'll go with you. But only because I don't want to get shot. Otherwise I'd run right home. And I'm not going to eat any more of this stew. And...and...and..." Nathan searched for the best word. "...Hades!"

"It's not a swear when you say it as Hades. Stupid boy."

"Then...buttocks!"

"It's not obscene when you use the proper scientific term for something. Stupid, stupid boy."

"Guts!"

"Guts? Are you drunk?"

"Feces!"

"Did you learn nothing from my previous comment about scientific terms? However, if the next words out of your mouth are anything but 'Thank you for the stew,' I will treat them as if you uttered the most lightning-attracting blasphemy imaginable, and you will find yourself shot."

Nathan did not want to find himself shot. But he also did not want Kleft to think his spirit was broken. "Thank you for the damn stew."

"I almost admire that," said Kleft.

They finished their meal and resumed their journey. Kleft continued to write in his book, occasionally looking up and studying Nathan, as if acquiring details for his narrative. Nathan went back and forth between thinking that he should suddenly leap from the coach, and thinking that he should not suddenly leap from the coach.

Scarcely an hour after their stop, the coach stopped again. Kleft sighed with frustration and closed his book. "Those horses had better not be fatigued already," he said. "I could run longer than that, and I'm the sort of gentleman who would sit in a coach and let horses do all the work!"

"It's not that," said the driver.

"Then what?"

"Robbers."

FOURTEEN

"Come out of there with your hands in the air," said a voice that was squeakier than what Nathan would have expected from a robber.

"Not just in the air, but without weapons," said a second voice.

"Right," said the first voice. "Don't hold weapons in the air."

Kleft gestured for Nathan to follow, and got out of the coach. The robbers were unshaven, dirty men in torn clothing, each of whom held a large knife.

"What do you miscreants want?" asked Kleft. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're somebody traveling in a coach on a lonely road after dark," said the first robber. "Therefore, you are prey."

"My name is Professor Kleft. I command great respect amongst those civilized enough to know who deserves respect. I am happy to forgive you this transgression and allow you to wander off in whatever direction your loathsome forms wish to go, but if you do not retreat I promise you will both lie dead at my feet."

The first robber grinned, revealing black gums and rotten teeth. "That's quite a promise. Now give me all of your money before I cut you into a series of long, thin strips."

"Let me explain to you, through an anecdote, how little your threat scares me. When I was a child, barely older than the boy next to me, my father and I rode in a coach, much like this one. It was a pleasant, calm journey, until the driver stopped the horses, even though we'd given the horses a rest barely an hour ago. We--"

"Is this going to be a long story?" asked the second robber.

"Extremely long. And if you continue to interrupt, I shall tell it at a slower rate. We got out of the coach, only to see a pair of robbers--"

"I have no interest in your anecdote," said the first robber. "Give us your money and whatever valuables you have concealed in there."

"--only to see a pair of robbers waiting for us outside. Their hair glistened with the shine of being unwashed, and the horses batted their tails to and fro, trying to wave away the stench as if shooing away flies."

"Are your ears merely decorative? We do not care! Not a whit! Not a speck! Not a pinch! Your anecdote is of no interest to us, and I swear to you, if you don't stop I will twist the knife each time I plunge it into your body, rather than merely withdrawing it before I stab again."

"My father refused to give these robbers any of his money and began to tell them about the origin of his lack of fear," Kleft continued. "And we watched happily as his driver, producing a gun from inside of his coat, shot both of the robbers dead while they were distracted by his meaningless anecdote."

"We don't care! How many times must we repeat this? This is easily in the top five stories of which I've had the least amount of interest, and yet you continue to share it, despite our threats upon your life. You've now vexed me so intensely that even if you do stop reciting the tale, I'm going to kill you. And then I'm going to kill your driver, and then I'm going to kill the boy. All because you wouldn't stop telling that story. Three deaths when there might have been zero."

"Well, there would've been at least one," said the second robber.

"That's true, that's true. We are sociopaths, after all. But still, had you not wasted our time with that pointless--"

Nathan had never seen a bullet strike somebody in the forehead before, nor had he seen their brains exit from the back of their skull at such an accelerated rate. He'd actually thought the process would look more like when somebody jumped into a swimming pool, where the water splashed outward, but instead it looked as if standing behind the first robber would have posed the greatest risk of getting splashed.

"You killed him!" the second robber screamed. "You've created orphans of his nine children! You've made a widow of his wife, who hasn't got the looks to ever find another husband to care for her! And in his spare time he was on the verge of finally discovering a cure for--"

The second robber's head burst open in a similar manner to his partner's. His body dropped.

Nathan cried out in horror.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," said Kleft. "It's never a pleasant thing, watching your driver kill a pair of men."

"Well, it can be, under the right circumstances," said the driver.

"Yes, but not when it's self-defense." Kleft sighed and clapped his hands together. "All right, let's get to work. We've got two corpses to skin before anybody else comes around."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Nathan.

"We're not just going to leave them here with their skins on. That would be madness. If we each take a knife and start scraping we'll be done in no time."

"I'm not doing that."

"Perhaps where you come from human skins dangle from trees and you can just pluck one or two whenever it strikes your fancy, but out here they're a little more scarce. Do you know how many coins a human skin fetches on the underground market?"

"No."

"It varies, based on the size of the human, the number of scars and warts, and most importantly--and realize that I am not being racist when I say this, I'm merely sharing a reality of the contemporary market--the color."

"I'm not doing it."

"Yes you are. You're going to skin your share of those corpses, and there won't be any complaint. In fact you will grin while you do it, is that understood?"

"No!"

"You will grin, and you will speak in creepy whispers as if to a second mind inside of your first, and you will smear residue in your hair on purpose, and you will stop acting like a sheltered baby and start acting like a proper member of my show, for God's sake!"

"Make him use his teeth," said the driver.

"Now that would be a show worth the half-coin admission by itself. Watch the Astounding Tooth-Boy skin a corpse in three minutes! All of the money that would bring in would far exceed the cost of importing the corpses."

"I'd rather be shot!" Nathan said.

The driver pointed his gun at him. "Are you sure?"

"I am not."

"One should think about the types of comparisons one makes about things one would rather be doing before saying them out loud," said Kleft. "I once told an ex-girlfriend that I'd rather be buried alive than kiss her again. Do you know how difficult it is to dig your way out of a grave? Oh, sure, it looks easy, just scrape away some dirt, la de da, no problem at all, but did you notice how all of my fingers are wooden?"

Actually, Nathan hadn't, but now that Kleft had pointed it out, he could see that he had a flesh palm with five pieces of finger-shaped wood attached to it.

"Let me assure you, young one, that when a man is forced to dig through cold earth so frantically that he wears his fingers completely off, he discovers that a kiss isn't quite so bad, even with the cold sore. So we're going to allow you to re-evaluate your prior comment about getting shot being preferable to skinning a corpse with your teeth. Keep in mind that once you've been shot, we will skin your corpse as well. You may think 'Well, I'll be dead, it won't matter to me anyway,' but can you be assured that you won't feel anything? What if you're up there, floating around in the afterlife, and you feel every poke and slice of our knives? And St. Peter says 'Sorry, we can't let you into heaven, because your screaming and thrashing will disturb the other angels.' My advice is to not get shot."

"Can't I...can't I just use a knife, like you two?"

"Thirty seconds ago I would have said yes," said Kleft. "Thirty seconds after that, which brings us to the current moment, I am saying no. I'm afraid you have no choice but to regress into savagery."

Nathan wanted to throw up. So he did. He couldn't skin a body with his teeth! That was insanity! He didn't even want to bite down gently upon the bodies of the robbers, much less puncture anything! What would the sisters think if they were watching him right now? Would they even want him to send them coins that were acquired under these circumstances? "Oh, goodness no, we can't buy food with these," Penny would say. "They have the scent of blood, and our meals will be tainted with the imagined taste of human flesh."

But he couldn't refuse, could he? He didn't want to get shot. Nobody did. Getting shot was awful.

Skin a corpse with his bare teeth or get shot...skin a corpse with his bare teeth or get shot...skin a corpse with his bare teeth or get shot...?

Then something occurred to him.

"You're bluffing," he said.

"In what way?"

"You said that the members of Professor Kleft's Parade of the Macabre are two days south of here."

"Yes."

"That's in addition to the day we've already traveled."

"Yes."

"So you traveled three days to fetch me."

"Yes."

"Six days of travel, there and back, and you're just going to shoot me? That seems peculiar. Therefore, Professor, I call your bluff."

Kleft grinned. "You are a clever one. But allow me to offer my rebuttal. Considering that I have threatened to shoot you if you do not commit an act of grisly mutilation, is it more likely that I am bluffing, or that I am medically insane and thus my actions are not based on any type of solid logic?"

"I..." Nathan trailed off. "Damn!"

"So which choice have you made?"

Nathan hung his head. "I'll follow your orders."

"An excellent selection."

"I've never done such a thing before," said Nathan. "You'll have to show me."

"That won't be a problem at all, as we have two bodies available," said Kleft. "Watch and learn, boy, watch and learn."

The next few minutes that followed were a sight so unpleasant that Nathan was certain that flashes of it would pop into his mind for the rest of his life, probably at inopportune moments, such as his wedding or important public speaking engagements. Such untidiness they were creating! He stood there and trembled and gasped and felt terribly sorry for the robbers even though they were already dead.

"You're cutting too deep," said Kleft to his driver. "That's no example to be setting."

"You have the better knife."

"Are you really blaming the knife? I could cut at him with a piece of broken glass and do the job with more skill than what you're demonstrating."

"Is that so? Prove it!"

"I shall!" Kleft stood up and walked back to the coach. He climbed inside and came out with a mostly empty bottle of wine. He drank up the last sip, then shattered it against the wheel of the coach. He selected one of the largest pieces, returned to the body of the robber, and resumed his work.

"You see?" he asked.

"Well, naturally, when you cut there it's possible to do it with a piece of glass, but I'd like to see you cut him there with the same accuracy."

"How about that?"

"Oh, my."

"Now don't you feel ashamed?"

"All right, all right, your skills exceed my own. But can you do it with a branch?"

"No, I can't do it with a branch! What kind of tomfoolery are you suggesting?"

"What about a sharp rock?"

"You need to spend less time suggesting odd items with which to skin a man and more time skinning that man." Kleft let out a derisive snort. "A sharp rock. Such balderdash."

"So you can't do it, then?"

"I'll make you a deal. If you can do it, I'll let you ride comfortably in the coach all the way back, and I'll drive the horses. How does that sound?"

The driver's face lit up, as much as such a skeletal face could light up. "That would be delightful! Let me see..." He began to quickly look around on the ground, and then picked up a rock. "Here's one. No, wait, this other one seems sharper." He ran his index finger along the edge of the rock. "Perfect."

"You won't even be able to clean under his fingernails with that."

"You'll see! Oh, I'll be riding two days' south of here in such luxury!" The driver seemed giddy as he went to work with the rock.

"It's not doing anything," said Kleft.

"It's doing a great deal. Look right there."

"Shoddy."

"What do you mean, shoddy?"

The driver, it must be said, knew exactly what Professor Kleft meant by "shoddy." The rock, sharp as it may have been, was doing a dreadful job. It simply was not the proper tool for the task. But for years he'd dreamt of riding in the coach, writing about his own adventures while Kleft dealt with the wind and the cold and the uncomfortable wooden seat and the stench of the horses, and he wasn't ready to give up on that dream quite yet.

Professor Kleft, on the other hand, thought that using the sharp rock looked like a lot of fun, and he sort of wished that he hadn't ridiculed the idea.

Meanwhile, Nathan had changed his mind about the horrors he was witnessing. As disturbing as the activities of his two captors were, he did appreciate the fact that they were paying a great deal of attention to the bodies of the robbers, and very little attention to Nathan. So little, in fact, that he'd been able to take several steps toward the coach without them noticing.

The first step had been a tentative one, covering minimal ground, tiny enough that if he were caught he could explain it away as stretching his leg. The next few steps were less tentative, and his leg-stretching excuse would have thoroughly strained credibility, but Kleft and his driver were still too absorbed in what they were doing to watch him.

Now Nathan knew that he had to make a big move. Being an extra six feet away from where he'd started was not a substantial advantage when dealing with enemies who had indicated a strong willingness to shoot him.

There weren't any woods to run into. No place to hide, except perhaps for under the coach, which would have been sufficient for an extremely brief game of hide-and-seek but was woefully unsuited for a life-or-death situation.

And so, moving as quickly as he could and trying not to scream in terror at Kleft's cry of "Hey!", Nathan scrambled up into the driver's seat.

FIFTEEN

Nathan frantically yanked on the horses' reins. He didn't know the first thing about driving a horse-drawn coach except that there was some yanking of reins involved, and if this didn't work, he knew he'd be dead.

The horses ran.

"He's escaping!" shouted the driver. It seemed like a strange thing to shout, since this information was almost certainly not new to Professor Kleft, but in times of great stress people often resorted to shouting unnecessary exposition.

Even though the terrain wasn't particularly rugged, Nathan found himself bouncing all over the wooden seat. He held onto the reins as tightly as he could as he watched Kleft and his driver fade off into the...well, actually, they weren't fading off into anything, they were still right there, running alongside the coach.

The driver leapt into the back. Nathan felt this might prove problematic in the near future.

"Stop!" shouted Kleft. "Don't make me shoot you!"

Nathan hoped he was referring to the horses, even though he liked the horses.

In a perfect world, Nathan would have been able to suddenly slow the horses down, which would cause Kleft to run ahead of them. Nathan would take advantage of this by speeding up the horses again and steering them to the right, thus trampling Kleft under their hooves. If Nathan had the slightest idea how to slow and steer the horses, it would have been a brilliant plan.

"Don't think I won't shoot a child! I'll put a bullet in you and not lose a single wink of sleep!"

Nathan believed him. Such a cruel world when a young boy could be threatened with a firearm and not automatically assume it was an empty promise!

Should he make a token effort to stop the horses?

Up ahead, the dirt road sloped downward. Not quite enough to classify it as a "hill," and far from enough to classify it as a "mountain" or a "cliff," but easily enough to classify it as "a dangerous slope upon which to drive a horse-drawn coach, if one has no experience with such things." There were far worse ways to perish, as he'd seen a few minutes ago, but Nathan hoped to remain alive for at least twice as long as he'd already been alive.

"Leave me alone!" Nathan shouted back. "I'll leave the horses behind once I've escaped!"

Kleft fired the gun.

Though Kleft was a murderous sort and would never admit such a thing, he did have a bit of a moral issue with the idea of shooting a child. It was a dilemma he was able to work through, obviously, but still, pulling that trigger brought no joy to his heart.

He had no intention of killing Nathan. Retrieving the boy in the first place had required a long journey, and to simply pop a bullet into his head would be a terrible waste. Not to mention that other individuals would be extremely unhappy with that decision.

"Where's the boy you were going to get?" his wife would ask.

"Shot him dead," Kleft would say.

"Why would you go and do a thing like that?" his wife would ask. She'd stop stirring his scrambled eggs, and Kleft would worry that they might not cook properly.

"He was getting away."

"So you shot him dead? What a peculiar methodology."

"Don't judge me, woman!" he would say. "You weren't there. You didn't witness the circumstances that forced my actions!"

"It is only the end result that matters," she would say, letting his eggs burn. "And the end result is that you left behind your household responsibilities for several days in order to retrieve this fang-toothed boy, who you then proceeded to murder. If you'd set out to murder him, then your trip could be considered a success, but since your purpose was to bring him back, your trip is an unqualified failure. How are you to continue making money if you're so casual with your responsibilities?"

He would want to argue. However, he would not do so, burdened with the knowledge that his wife was absolutely correct, that it had been a poor idea to travel so far only to shoot Nathan in the head, and that despite his best efforts to convince certain individuals that things weren't so bad, there was really no debating that propping up a dead fanged boy with a hole in his head would provide little or no entertainment value to a paying audience.

So he did not shoot Nathan in the head.

He'd been aiming for Nathan's leg. After all, when you were shot in the leg it was much more difficult to run away from kidnappers. But Kleft was running himself, and Nathan was bouncing around, and Kleft had never been a superior marksman, so the bullet did not hit Nathan in the leg as desired.

Nathan screamed as the bullet struck him in the left arm, two inches from his shoulder.

He'd been shot! By a bullet! On purpose!

Was there blood? Of course there was. There had to be. He didn't want to look. He didn't need to look. The blood was a given.

Besides, he could see it on the reins.

Could you die from getting shot in the arm?

He looked at his arm.

Oh, yes, that was indeed bad. Even if he'd been shot a few times in the past, which he hadn't, he suspected that this would rank as the worst he'd ever been shot.

He hadn't fallen out of the coach, though.

If he survived this mess, he'd have a wonderful story to tell Penny, Mary, and Jamison. He could enhance the quality of the future story by digging his fingers into the wound, pulling out the bullet, and flinging it back at the evil Professor Kleft. He touched the wound, let out a cry of pain, and decided that the story was fine as-is.

The coach went down the slope with the horses running at top speed. Nathan bounced in his seat so violently that he thought he might fly right out, and behind him the coach rocked and squeaked and seemed ready to topple onto its side.

Kleft cursed as he fell behind. He no longer cared if he wasted his journey and made certain individuals unhappy. He screamed with rage and fired his remaining bullets at the coach.

His driver, who was named Abner Yauncey III, had been married to his childhood sweetheart for thirty years. They had six beautiful children, and a seventh who was not particularly attractive but who they loved every bit as much as the beautiful ones. Abner's grandmother lived with them, though she required constant care, because Abner couldn't bear the thought of sending her off to live with nurses. His dog, Runner, did not fetch sticks quite as well in his golden years but remained a loyal companion. With all of his responsibilities, Abner couldn't donate as much of his time or money to charitable causes as he would've liked, but he did what he could.

Abner did not benefit from Kleft's shooting spree.

He'd been just about to leap into the driver's seat, where he would have easily stopped the horses and subdued Nathan with little fuss. Unfortunately, the three bullets that punched into his back put a stop to that. With one final thought about how much he loved his family, Abner Yauncey III left our world and moved on to the next.

And then the coach flipped over onto its side.

Since the fate of the horses is of great interest to those who hear the tale of Fangboy, let it be said that the horses were unharmed by their fall. Nathan was thrown from his seat onto the dirt and was also unharmed, if one discounted his previous injury (i.e., the bullet wound). Abner was already deceased, but few would argue that were he not already in that condition, he would have been dead three times over.

Though one might have expected Kleft to be pleased by the fact that Nathan was no longer riding away in the coach, he was in fact extremely upset, for the coach had been no small financial investment and certain individuals would not react well to the news of its damage. He said terrible, wicked things as he ran toward the wreckage.

When he got there, Nathan was gone.

He checked the horse's hooves, to see if Nathan had been trampled beneath them, but such was not the case. Abner's body was in poor shape, but not such poor shape that the parts of a seven-year-old boy could be mixed in there.

"Damn!" he shouted. "Hellish damnation!"

The boy could not have gone far.

Kleft would find him.

* * *

Nathan ran and ran and ran, until he decided that he didn't have enough blood left to keep running, and passed out instead.

* * *

He awoke on a cot in a small hut that smelled like leaves. His arm still hurt. A piece of gauze was taped to the bullet wound.

A man sat across from him in a rocking chair, smoking a pipe. His skin--Nathan didn't know they made skin that dark. What sort of man was this?

"Where am I?" Nathan asked.

The man smiled and took a long puff from his pipe. "You are in my home. You have been shot."

"I remember that happening."

"What is your name?"

"Nathan."

"Pleased to meet you, Nathan. My name is James. I am your magical negro."

"You're my what?"

"Your magical negro. I am here to solve the problems of white folks. And you, white boy, have problems."

"I've never heard of a magical negro before."

"Oh, we are very common. Why do you think white folks have so few problems?"

"How can you help me?"

"The first thing I have to do is take that bullet out of your arm."

"Is it going to hurt?"

"Do you know the happy, warm feeling you get when you have just had a fine meal, surrounded by those you love?"

"Yes."

"It is going to be the opposite of that."

Nathan frowned. "Can we just leave it in there?"

James shook his head. "If we do that, white boy, you would get stuck to magnets wherever you went. That is no way to live." He got up from his rocking chair and then crouched down next to Nathan's cot. He gently removed the gauze and rubbed a large leaf on Nathan's arm. The pain faded within seconds. "I am going to give your arm a good squeeze. If we are lucky, the bullet will pop right out. If we are not, I will have to scoop."

He placed both of his large hands on Nathan's arm, then squeezed.

The bullet popped out.

"I am not going to lie to you," said James. "Scooping would have driven you to the brink of madness. I am glad we did not have to do that."

"I wish I were bleeding less," said Nathan.

"Do not worry. I can make it all better." James pressed another large leaf against Nathan's arm. "Hold this here and the bleeding will stop."

"Thank you."

"Not a problem in the least. That is why I exist."

The leaf quickly turned red, but blood didn't leak from under it. "Did you see Professor Kleft?"

"I saw nobody else. Just you, lying on the ground."

"Oh. I was hoping that you'd defeated him."

James gazed into Nathan's eyes. "There is a lot of anger inside of you. Do you know that?"

"I'm not sure."

"Yes, much anger. What makes you so angry, Nathan?"

"Nothing."

"In this hut, we speak the truth. The truth is what sets us free. Lies only tie anchors to our feet and throw us into lakes. Tell me, Nathan, from where does your anger stem?"

"I...I don't like my teeth very much."

James gave him a serious nod. "Yes, they do seem like the teeth of a beast from hell. I was thankful that you were unconscious when I saw them for the first time. What caused your teeth to grow in such a manner?"

"It's how I was born."

"God was angry that day, I think. Or careless. Have you committed acts of evil with these?"

Nathan's mouth went dry. "Not on purpose."

"Evil is not always in the intent. What have you done?"

"I bit somebody."

"I see. I would hate to be the owner of flesh that was sandwiched between those fangs. How did you feel after it happened?"

"Awful."

"Did you want to die?"

"Well, no, I didn't want to die, I just felt bad."

"Did this unleash feelings of self-loathing?"

"I'm not sure. I wished I hadn't done it."

"Do you plan to bite others?"

"No. Never."

"Do you feel that perhaps your teeth are a blessing? That they make you greater than other human beings? That they are in fact a gift from the creator?"

"No."

"Nor would I. You may remove the leaf."

Nathan peeled the leaf off his arm. The wound had healed. "How did you do that?"

"Strong leaf. Walk the path of the righteous and all will be well. When you leave my hut, follow the sun until it drops below the horizon, and then walk north until you reach a path. It is a well-traveled path, and soon somebody will find you."

"Thank you, sir."

"No, thank you, for allowing me to fulfill my purpose. God be with you."

Nathan left the hut. He had no food or water, but he knew that he would make it. He need only--

"I've got you!" snarled Professor Kleft, grabbing Nathan by the back of the neck. "Dark times are ahead, I promise you that!"

SIXTEEN

Coach repair was not a skill that Kleft possessed in abundance, though to be fair, he never would have tried to claim otherwise. The coach wobbled and creaked and the horses had a terrible time trying to drag it on only two wheels. He was also not a skilled driver, though the horses were more or less traveling in a direction similar to the one he wanted.

Nathan sat next to him. His wrists were bound together with thick rope, as were his feet. He wore a tight gag. Kleft had not been gentle with the tying and gagging process.

"You're lucky I didn't kill you," said Kleft. He'd said this at least a dozen times. "You've ruined the coach and made me shoot my driver. I rescued you. Don't you see that? I showed up to give you a better life, and this is how you repay me, by creating a situation in which I was forced to accidentally kill a man who was only trying to do his job? Do you feel that was a grand gesture on your part?"

Nathan said nothing, since he was gagged and not in a position to hold up his end of the conversation.

"His death is on your conscience," said Kleft. "When you close your eyes and see his screaming face, you will know that it's your fault he lies buried in a shallow grave."

Kleft had made this point, including the part about the screaming face, at least fourteen times. Nathan didn't expect him to tire of making it any time soon.

"Uncomfortable things await you in the afterlife. Uncomfortable things indeed." Then he shrugged. "But, best not to dwell on them, I suppose. Are you hungry? Would you like some beef jerky?"

Nathan nodded, because he knew that Kleft would have to remove the gag in order to feed him, which might allow Nathan the opportunity to work out some sort of brilliant escape.

"To hell with you!" said Kleft. "All of the beef jerky is going into my own stomach!"

But as the journey progressed, Kleft's mood seemed to brighten. Then a third wheel popped free of the coach, and his mood soured again. When the fourth wheel came off, he let the horses drag the coach along the ground for a few miles (the horses, it must be repeated, were unharmed and found themselves enjoying the exercise) until he finally gave up and they rode the rest of the way directly on the horses' backs. Nathan had long-fantasized about riding a horse, though in his fantasies he was not tied up and gagged and bouncing around so hard that his legs had become one giant bruise.

"At last we have arrived," said Kleft, as they rode through a large town called Apple Falls. They passed inns, restaurants, churches, cemeteries, and a sinister playground before turning onto a long, winding road. At the end, there was a small building, constructed with odd angles and six different types of wood, upon which hung a blood-red sign: Professor Mongrel's Theatre of the Macabre.

Nathan frowned and said something inquisitive.

"What's that?" asked Kleft, tugging down the gag.

"I thought it was Professor Kleft's Parade of the Macabre."

"It will be," he said. His face darkened. "Someday."

The front door opened, and a short, plump man in a black suit and top hat waddled out.

"Kleft! Where in the blazes have you been?" he shouted.

"I apologize, sir," said Kleft. "There were complications."

"What in the blazes have you done to my coach?"

"That was among the complications."

"That enrages me." He looked at Nathan. "Is that the fang-toothed boy?"

"Yes."

"Clearly he also possesses superhuman strength. I'm thankful those ropes kept him from overpowering you. Untie him, you fool."

Kleft muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, then knelt down and began to untie the rope around Nathan's feet.

The man waddled over to them. "Your name had better be Nathan Pepper," he said.

Nathan nodded.

"And when you open your mouth immediately after I complete this sentence, your teeth had better be frightening."

Nathan opened his mouth. The man's eyes widened and he took a step back. "By the serpents of Medusa, I expected them to be only half as scary!" Then he smiled. "Fine work, Assistant Kleft, fine work. I'll deduct fewer coins from your pay this week."

"Thank you, sir," said Kleft, tossing aside the first rope and going to work on the one that bound Nathan's wrists.

"What happened to the driver?"

"He was slain."

"Slain?"

"Slain by this beast of a boy. Do you remember that our driver had a throat when we left?"

"I do."

"Well, that all changed."

"Goodness."

"The boy went at him in a frenzy of fangs and fingernails. So much blood. Apparently all it takes is the utterance of certain common English words--I dare not say which ones--to ignite his kill-lust. Our driver was brave, but bravery doesn't do much for a man when his windpipe is exposed for the world to see. So very much blood. It took five men to stop him, not including myself, and if you were to see what those five men look like now, your stomach would churn and you would let out a cry of revulsion. 'Disgusting!' you would shout. 'Better that these poor souls should be put out of their misery than to live such a disfigured existence.' So very, very much blood. It took nearly eight buckets of water to clean the boy up after that rampage. Look at the way he stares at you, like a tiger or a shark sizing up its prey. It chills me."

"None of that is true," said Nathan.

"And he speaks lies!" said Kleft. "You sent me on an errand to retrieve an untruthful killing machine. That I am not dead myself is a miracle for which I will be thanking the supreme being for decades to come."

"Enough," said the man. "When I asked about the driver, I was seeking an answer lasting three to five seconds, nothing more." He extended his hand to Nathan. "My name is Professor Mongrel."

Nathan shook it. "Is that your real name?"

"If you're asking if my first name is Professor, no, it is not. And if you're asking if the last name I inherited upon my birth is Mongrel, no, it is not. So the answer to both potential variations on your question is no. But it's the name I use now. Is Nathan Pepper your real name?"

"Yes."

"Unimpressive. You need a stage name. How do you feel about The Appalling Biting Boy?"

"I don't like it."

"Then how about The Appalling Chewing Boy?"

"I don't like that, either."

"The Appalling Munching Boy?"

"No."

"Is it the 'Appalling' part that you dislike?"

"I try not to be appalling."

"Well, we'll break you out of that habit. You can't be part of Professor Mongrel's Theatre of the Macabre and remain socially acceptable."

"I don't want to be part of it," said Nathan. "I want to go home."

"Then go home," said Professor Mongrel. "Nobody is stopping you."

"Really?"

"Really." Professor Mongrel gave him a bright smile, which suddenly turned dark and sinister. "But you'll have to walk all the way into town. Alone."

"I can do that. I lived in the woods for a year all by myself."

"Oh. I see. I didn't realize that. Then, yes, I'm afraid somebody is stopping you. Let's go meet your new friends, shall we? Kleft, repair that coach."

Mongrel took Nathan by the hand and led him to the building. The front door opened onto a long, dark, hallway that had bare walls and a floor that tilted just a bit to the left.

"Are you scared of spiders?" Mongrel asked as they walked down the hallway, which seemed endless.

"Not really."

"Are you scared of eating spiders?"

Nathan had honestly never thought about that. "I wouldn't want to do it, if I could help it."

"Oh, you should, and you will. When I heard about the miracle fang-toothed boy, I said to myself, 'That's a boy who should be eating spiders in front of my audience.' Finish them off in ten bites. One for each leg, one for the abdomen, and then flash the customers a fang-toothed grin before you pop the head into your mouth and chew away. Entertainment!"

"That's cruel!"

"What, to the spider? Don't be silly. Spiders don't have nerve endings. Besides, I thought little boys enjoyed tormenting arachnids."

"I don't like hurting anything."

"Is that why you were in jail for nearly biting somebody's arm off?"

Nathan was horrified. Had his exploits really been exaggerated that much? Had news travelled across the land that he was some sort of barbarian? "I didn't bite it off!"

"Nearly."

"No. Almost all of his arm was left. I didn't swallow a thing. It wasn't at all what you were told."

Mongrel shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Whether you reduced his arm to a skeletal stalk or merely clipped his fingernails in an unorthodox manner, we will sell you to an audience looking to get their half-coin's worth. 'If He Weren't Eating These Spiders, He'd Be Eating You.'"

They were still walking down the hallway, which seemed to be narrowing. Nathan was finding it difficult to breathe.

Oh, such terrible misfortune! What was he going to do? Eating spiders wasn't going to solve the plight of Penny and Mary. He had to escape!

He didn't want to bite anybody else, but did he have a choice?

He had to act now, before it was too late.

Or was it already too late?

Should he have acted before they walked into the building?

No, because Kleft was outside of the building. If Nathan had acted earlier, he would have had to contend with both Kleft and Mongrel at once. If he acted now, he could contend with Mongrel first, and then Kleft later. That was a much better plan.

The longer he waited, the higher the chances that he'd have other people to contend with.

What if the others were prisoners? What if he could convince them to rise up against their captor? By waiting to act, he could find himself in a much better position for the action he was eventually planning to perform.

Or his position could be much worse.

I really should do something, he thought.

Now?

Soon?

Now.

He opened his mouth wide, showing off every tooth available to him, let out a fearsome roar, and lunged at Mongrel.

The expectation was that Mongrel would recoil in horror, putting just enough distance between the two that Nathan could turn and run back the way they came. Nathan's legs were shorter, but he also had the advantage of youth and the ability to move without waddling, and he was certain he could make it back to the entrance before Mongrel caught up to him. Kleft would not be expecting Nathan to burst out of the building unannounced and would be unprepared to stop him, leaving Nathan simply to run into town for rescue.

Unfortunately, Mongrel did not recoil. He merely regarded Nathan as he would an adorable puppy who'd gotten carried away while playing with a chew toy but was otherwise harmless.

"It disappoints me that you did that," said Mongrel. "I had hoped not to have to cause you to be zapped, but apparently that shall not be the case."

He reached into his inside suit pocket and took out a long metal pole, although it wasn't so long that it couldn't have credibly been resting inside the suit all this time. He touched the end to Nathan's chest. Nathan yelped at the shock, then felt dizzy, and then realized he was lying on the floor, twitching a bit. Then he realized that it was much darker than it had been before the shock, and getting darker all the time, and then he couldn't see anything at all, and then he didn't care.

SEVENTEEN

When he woke up he was on a theatre stage, surrounded by monsters.

They were seated around him in a circle, nine or ten of them. None of them were currently devouring (or attempting to devour) his flesh, so they didn't seem immediately hostile, but they were certainly intimidating.

Professor Mongrel sat in the circle as well, as did Assistant Kleft.

"Welcome back," said Mongrel.

Nathan wiped some dried drool from the side of his mouth. "Thank you."

"You may have noticed that you're still alive. I can't always guarantee that this will be the case after I poke you with my zapper, so I'd advise you not to give me further reasons to use it."

"I won't."

"Good. Now let me introduce you to your new friends." Mongrel pointed to a boy who looked about seventeen, with long red hair. "This is Donald. He can swallow a coin and make the necessary change when it emerges. Show him, Donald."

Donald popped a coin into his mouth and swallowed.

"It's not a quick process," Mongrel admitted, "which is why he tends to serve in more of a janitorial capacity than as one of the performers. But still, it's an impressive trick if you can stomach it. Moving on..." Mongrel pointed to a very large woman with a long, thick beard. "This is Mildred, the bearded lady."

"Pleased to meet you," she said, in a voice that wasn't nearly as gruff as Nathan might have expected.

"Does she frighten you?" Mongrel asked.

"Well, no," said Nathan. "I mean, it's just a lady with a beard."

"But it's unnatural!" said Mongrel. "Deeply unnatural! Doesn't such a departure from the norm strike you with fear?"

Nathan wasn't sure if he was supposed to just play along. He didn't want to get shocked again. "I guess it could be scary."

"No, you were right the first time. It's not. We've tried dyeing it a multitude of colors and trimming it into the most frightening shapes imaginable--even a bat--but nothing works. It causes nary a tremble."

"I even tried throwing things once," said Mildred.

"Next we have Gondola and Horatio, the former Siamese twins. They used to be joined at the waist, until they were separated in a not-so-gruesome accident. Now, they look very similar, and yet they are two individuals. Does that frighten you?"

"No."

"What do you mean, no? Look how similar they are! If it weren't for the mole and the scar, you might almost mistake them for two copies of the same person!"

"I see that, but it's really more confusing than frightening. They're just twins."

"Twins who used to be joined together into a four-legged, four-armed, two-headed, one-shirted monstrosity! How can you not fear them?"

"Well, I suppose if they were attacking me or something, I might be uncomfortable."

"We don't want uncomfortable! We want a level of fear that makes you lose control of every bodily function you've got, including the ones hidden within your skin! We want our audience to be reduced to blobs of boneless jelly wobbling in the breeze!"

"Twins aren't going to do that."

"Blast!" Mongrel sighed. "I'm going to skip most of the other introductions to save time, But feast your eyes upon Gabriel the Alligator Boy!"

Nathan looked at Gabriel, who sat calmly on the floor.

"He doesn't look like an alligator."

"Perhaps not, but he acts like one!"

Nathan watched Gabriel for a moment.

"In what way?"

"Alligators spend most of their time lying in the sun. If there was sunlight in this room, Gabriel would be lying in it."

"Oh."

"If you stumbled upon an alligator out in the wild doing the exact same thing, you'd be frightened, wouldn't you?"

"I guess so."

"Oooohhh, well, listen to the big brave alligator hunter! Admit it, if you encountered an alligator sunning itself in the water not six feet away from you, your mind would be an absolute mess. Admit it!"

"I'll admit that," said Nathan. "But him just sitting there pretending to be an alligator sunning itself isn't particularly terrifying."

Mongrel let out a deep, long sigh, and then nodded. "I'm not going to lie to you. Professor Mongrel's Theatre of the Macabre should really be called Professor Mongrel's Theatre of Disappointed, Angry Customers."

"Or Professor Kleft's Parade of the Macabre," Kleft muttered.

"What was that?"

"I did not speak."

"Though we try not to publicize this, every bearded lady, ex-Siamese twin, alligator boy, stretchy man, lobotomy recipient, meerkat-tongued woman, and investment banker in this room knows that we offer a feeble theatre-going experience for an audience that desires fear." He grinned. "But that's where you come in, Nathan. I would not have to offer ten minutes of verbal buildup to convince customers that you are scary. You are the real thing. And you will save us all!"

Everybody in the room applauded.

Nathan looked around at all of the performers, their faces lit up with a sense of hope, except for those who were staring at him with resentment, which was about half of them. He didn't know what to do. Could he really devote himself to a life of scaring people? Did spiders taste bad?

"I'm not sure I want to do this," said Nathan.

"You'd be part of a family," said Mongrel. "You'd never be alone again. Nobody would ever judge you for the way you look."

"They'd be judging me all day! That's the whole point of what you're asking me to do!"

"Yes, but you need to understand, exploitation is the purest form of acceptance."

"What?"

"Tell me, Nathan, does a mother love her child?"

"Yes."

"And does she love her child more if he enables her to profit from his existence?"

"I'm not sure."

"Of course she does, just as a wife feels the love in her heart for her husband bloom when he brings home a larger paycheck. And if you can save us from complete financial ruin, well, I think you'll discover that you've never been so accepted in your life."

"Will I get paid?" Nathan asked.

The bearded lady and alligator boy both shook their heads, just a little, not enough to be noticed by Mongrel.

"Naturally. Didn't Kleft explain this to you?"

"He did, but then he seemed to take it back."

"No, no, no, you will most definitely be paid for your services. Granted, there will be certain deductions for incurred expenses and service fees, but we would never even dream of not compensating you for your efforts."

"How much?"

"It will be a fair wage."

The meerkat-tongued woman and lobotomy patient shook their heads as well.

"I won't do it for less than ten coins a week."

"Ten coins? Are you drunk, insane, or both? Even I don't earn that much, and if I did, I'd feel so guilty that I'd donate most of it to charity. I'll give you a half-coin every two weeks."

Nathan shook his head. "Eight coins every week."

"A half-coin every two weeks, and I won't smother you in your damn sleep with a crusty pillow." Mongrel let out a cruel laugh. "Well, that charade of reasonable behavior on my part didn't last long, did it? I usually do better than that."

"Tell him about the oil," said Kleft.

"Below the stage, I keep a vat of oil boiling at all times. When one of my prisoners--there, I said it--does not do as he or she is told, an extremity goes into the vat. Prisoners, hold up your affected extremities."

Each of the prisoners held up three or four extremities, all of them burnt.

"It's very inconvenient to keep a whole vat of oil boiling at all times," said Mongrel. "It requires a great deal of wood and you have to check on it at least every forty-five minutes. That should indicate the depth of my passion for dunking parts of people into it. And don't think that it's just a quick dunk, in and out and you're done. These dunks linger."

Nathan wiped away the tear that trickled down his cheek. "Why is there such evil in the world?" he asked. "Everywhere I go, I find nothing but cruelty! Why is this so?"

"I don't know," Mongrel admitted. "But personally, I think it's rather great."

"Cruelty for all!" Kleft declared.

"Sadness and misery," said Nathan. "I was born into a world that offers nothing but sadness and misery. Pain and sorrow. Heartbreak and agony."

"Yes, indeed!" said Mongrel.

Nathan wallowed in self-pity for a few seconds, but then decided, no, it wasn't true. Penny and Mary had been nothing but kind to him. His parents had been somewhat ill-advised in their level of protection, but they'd always loved him. He had friends. Dogs were usually nice. He wasn't going to let a reprehensible sadist like Mongrel taint his view of life on this planet. There was goodness in the world.

"I don't care how heartless you are," Nathan said. "I still love you."

* * *

The boiling oil hurt even more than he'd expected.

* * *

"Don't go thinking that your teeth are so special," Mildred the bearded lady told him. "I could have fangs like that if I wanted, but I don't."

"Yeah," said Gabriel the alligator boy. "If you came at me with them right now, do you know how scared I'd be? Barely."

"Nobody's going to pay to see you," said Gondola and Horatio, simultaneously.

"If you're to be our savior, then we must have required very little in the way of saving," said Winston the Tattooed Man, whose tattoo of a star was mostly covered by his shirt sleeve. "Perhaps we were at ninety-six or ninety-seven percent saved already, and your contribution added the extra three or four percent, which I don't have to tell you is a fairly unimpressive contribution."

"None of this is my fault," Nathan insisted. "I don't want to be here. I'm a captive, just like the rest of you. I'm not getting any special treatment. You saw the way he put my arm in the oil. We should all be friends."

"Friends?" asked Mildred. "With a freak like you? Surely you can't be serious!"

"I am serious," said Nathan. "But that's beside the point. We should join forces. He doesn't have enough boiling oil to stop all of us. I mean, he does, but he'd have to splash it all around. He couldn't dunk everybody."

"Do you think we haven't tried to escape?" asked Mildred. "Rarely a week goes by when we don't try to hatch some sort of scheme. And each time, as we bury one of our own, we agree that we shouldn't have done it."

Nathan was flustered. "Well, perhaps you could hatch a better scheme."

"There's no way out. The best thing you can do is put on as good of a show as possible. It's not such a bad life, once you lower your expectations."

"No," said Nathan. "It can't be true. I will escape tonight!"

* * *

The second dunking in the boiling oil hurt less, because many of the nerves in his left arm had been burnt away the first time. It still was not a pleasant experience.

* * *

"We've decided to call you The Human Shark," Professor Mongrel announced, as Nathan struggled to get into his skin-tight costume. "What do you think?"

Nathan shrugged. "It's better than Fangboy."

"Fangboy? Why, that's brilliant! I wish I'd thought of that myself instead of merely claiming credit for it in the future!"

"What if people think he's a vampire?" asked Kleft.

"All the better! People are in favor of vampires these days. Fangboy it is! Finish putting on your suit."

Nathan hated his costume, It was brown, with lots of fanged mouths sewn onto the fabric. (Not, it must be noted, actual mouths, but rather artistic representations of mouths. Though if Mongrel had come up with the idea and such a thing were practical, he very well may have tried it.) He straightened the sleeves and stood in front of Mongrel and Kleft, feeling awkward and self-conscious.

"Perfect!" said Mongrel. "It truly brings out the sharpness of your teeth."

"Can't I just wear normal clothes?" asked Nathan.

"Not in my Theatre of the Macabre. Perhaps if you sign on with some discount hobo-laden charity theatre you can wear your street clothes, but not here. Now, it is time to practice." He clapped his hands. "Assistant Kleft! The spider box!"

Kleft picked a small wooden box up off the stage and set it down in front of Nathan.

"Inside this box are a dozen different varieties of spiders," said Mongrel. "You will be able to tell which ones are venomous by observing whether or not you die after you are bitten."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That was a joke. You're in the entertainment business now, so levity is important! Nobody wants to pay to see a sour-faced spider-eater. That said, there are venomous ones in there, and it will serve you well to avoid them."

"Yes, sir."

"Remember, it's all about showmanship. You can't just tilt your head back and shake the contents of the box out into your open mouth. The audience needs to feel as if they were eating a tarantula themselves. As the webby contents of its thorax spew out onto your tongue, each person sitting in those seats needs to feel as if it is their own tongue being coated."

"That's disgusting."

"You can get entertainment that isn't disgusting at the ballet! These people want to see, smell, hear, taste, and touch the macabre! Now open the lid."

Nathan opened the lid. The box was indeed filled with crawling spiders.

"Pick one up. If you choose a black widow, do it quickly."

Nathan plucked the largest spider he could find from the box then shut the lid so the others wouldn't escape. He tossed the spider into the air and caught it between his teeth.

"Amazing!" Mongrel shouted. "Why didn't you tell us you could do that?"

Nathan wanted to explain that it was something he'd never tried before, and in fact he'd only thought of the trick two seconds earlier, but he had a spider between his teeth.

"So, go on, bite it!"

Nathan offered a silent apology to the arachnid, then bit it in half.

"That was unspeakably entertaining," said Mongrel. "We have an act!"

* * *

Nathan sat backstage, listening to the sounds of the audience being unimpressed with the Tattooed Man's story about how he'd originally asked for a crescent moon on his arm, but how the tattoo artist had convinced him to go with a star instead, and about how sometimes when the moon was in the sky he regretted his decision.

"Are you ready?" Mongrel asked. "You're on next."

"I suppose."

"You suppose? What kind of lackadaisical attitude is that? We need enthusiasm. A lot of people have traveled long distances tonight to see Fangboy. Do you know who's here? Do you?"

"Who?"

"None other than Charles Monchino, star of stage and screen. His filmography includes motion pictures such as Doom's Day, Lady's Bug, and Spoke's Person. Terrible films, all, but financially lucrative."

Nathan sat up straight. "I've never met a movie star."

"Perhaps tonight you will. He's one of the most respected citizens in existence, and if he enjoys the show, imagine the publicity!"

"I can't perform with him in the audience!"

"Oh, now, don't worry about stage fright. If he intimidates you, just imagine that a president or a king was in the audience in his place. The lights will be low anyway, so you won't even see him. It's almost time. Get focused."

The tattooed man finished up his story and left to a smattering of polite applause. Mongrel walked out onto the stage.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I bring you tonight's main attraction. When you and I gaze into the mirror, we see teeth with flattened tops. Do I speak the truth?"

Several members of the audience murmured that he did indeed speak the truth.

"But the same cannot be said for our next attraction. For when Fangboy looks in the mirror and opens his mouth enough to expose his teeth, he sees sharp, glistening, murderous fangs!"

"Oh, dear!" said somebody in the audience.

"Fear not, for Fangboy will not be murdering any humans tonight, though if he wanted to I suspect that he could end the lives of a good eight or nine of you before we were able to subdue him. Instead, he will focus his homicidal impulses on members of the arachnid family! Ladies and gentlemen, practice your gasps and cross your legs, for I present to you...Fangboy!"

EIGHTEEN

Nathan walked out onto the stage, feeling more than a little bit sick to his stomach. A spotlight shone in his eyes. The audience, who he could barely see in the darkened theatre, applauded politely.

Mongrel gestured to Nathan. "He looks like a normal boy, one you might hire to mow your lawn or fetch things for your grandmother as she writhes in the final stages of dementia. But no, behind those lips lurks a sight that will chill each and every one of you down to the soft red marrow of your bones. If your psyche is fragile, then look away, look away, for what you are about to witness will imbed deep, jagged scars upon the surface of your brain!"

Nathan thought he might be building the whole thing up a bit too much, leaving the audience feeling disappointed when the actual performance began. If he'd had any say in the way the program was arranged--which Mongrel made it very clear he did not--Mongrel would have merely announced Nathan as a straightforward juggling act, and a poor one at that, and as the audience shifted uncomfortably in their seats over the awkward sight of Nathan picking up dropped balls, having failed to complete even a single "toss and catch," he would flash them a sheepish smile, at which point the more clever members of the audience would realize that this was not a juggling act at all, and they would scream and point, and the rest of the audience would quickly catch on, and pretty soon there'd be an entire audience of people screaming and pointing at Nathan, and it would be quite a show.

(It is important to note that Nathan did not want to encourage the audience to scream and point at him; he was merely noting that the theatrical presentation could have been made much more dramatic with relatively minor changes.)

"I must remind you," Mongrel told the audience, "that we cannot bear any responsibility if one or more of you are to drop dead from fear. Obviously, this disclaimer only applies to death from fright over what you're about to see. If part of the ceiling collapsed and struck somebody on the head, naturally we'd assume our proper legal obligations. But if you feel that your heart may not be able to withstand the shock and the horror and the amazement and the eerie sensation that something just isn't quite right with that boy's teeth, then I strongly encourage you to leave immediately."

A woman tried to get up, but her husband tugged her back down into her seat.

"Remember that you cannot un-see what you have seen in your mind's eye. We all have certain images we desperately wish had never been within our line of sight. Who among us has not at least once entered a room in which an unappealing display of carnal activity was taking place, perhaps involving one's parents? So though it may seem that I'm being overly cautious, I cannot stress enough that horror awaits, and although there are no refunds I do not want anybody to see anything they are not fully prepared to see."

Mongrel had at least another seven minutes of his speech remaining, so Nathan looked out into the audience. He couldn't really see anybody in the darkness, just a small red glow in the front row, somebody smoking a cigar.

Could that be Charles Monchino?

No! Suddenly Nathan realized exactly who it was.

Bernard Steamspell!

Even lit only by his cigar, the orphanage owner was unmistakable. Few people were able to radiate such a strong sense of evil without actively engaging in evil acts.

Was Steamspell looking at him right at this very moment, staring at him with those cold, cruel eyes?

Well, yes, of course he was. Nathan was standing on stage. That was a dumb internal question.

But what did he want? Was it a coincidence? Was he simply here to enjoy the show? Was he coming to reclaim Nathan? Was he going to jump up on stage and start beating him? Should Nathan run?

He took several long, deep breaths to calm himself. There was no reason to panic. If he fled, he would no doubt be quickly recaptured, and then he'd be in an even worse situation than before. He could imagine Steamspell grabbing his legs, Mongrel grabbing his arms, and Kleft grabbing his nose, the three of them tugging until he popped apart.

Mongrel, seemingly unaware of Nathan's current state of dismay, continued to warn the audience about how scary he was going to be. "Your eyes may try to leap out of your head, but worry not, for the stalks will keep them from getting far..."

Nathan tried to convince himself that it would be fine. Mongrel would never give up his star performer. As long as Nathan stayed close to his current wicked captor, his old wicked captor wouldn't be able to get his hands on him.

"If the need to regurgitate arises, please be considerate to those around you..."

He'd be fine. For now, he'd just perform the show as planned. Maybe Steamspell had forgotten all about him.

"Behold...the open mouth of Fangboy!"

On cue, Nathan opened his mouth wide, showing off his terrible fangs. A woman in the front row screamed. The man next to her began to frantically fan himself. Several people started talking at once, and though he couldn't quite make out what they were saying, their conversations all seemed to revolve around the idea that he was a most ghastly creature indeed.

Mongrel held up his hand. "Calm yourselves, ladies and gentlemen. He frightens me too, but rest assured that we have two different snipers ready to take him out should he make a threatening move."

Nathan had not been made aware of that. He hoped it was untrue.

"But what does he do?" a man called out from the back of the theatre.

"I beg your pardon?" Mongrel asked.

"What does he actually do? He doesn't just stand there having sharp teeth, does he?"

Mongrel chuckled. "Of course not. At Professor Mongrel's Theatre of the Macabre, I wouldn't waste your time by showing you a freak who didn't do tricks! Kleft! The box!"

Kleft walked out on stage, placed the box on the floor in front of Nathan, then exited.

"Arachnids. Spiders. Perhaps the most frightening creatures on earth. Some may claim that snakes are scarier, but can you grab a spider by the tail and swing it around like a lasso, robbing it of its intimidating nature? You can not. I will concede that the great white shark is more fearsome, but of course we would not be able to feasibly provide one tonight, and if we did, it would certainly eat the boy, ending the show. But excluding the shark idea, ladies and gentlemen, I ask you, what could be more frightening than watching this boy use his unnatural jaws to eat spiders?"

Mongrel gestured to him, and Nathan raised the lid of the box. The mass of spiders writhed inside.

"Such a stupid boy," said a booming voice. It was Steamspell. "I'd be astonished if he even knows which end to bite from."

Several people in the audience laughed. Nathan's face burned with rage and embarrassment. Being part of the show was bad enough without the likes of Steamspell ridiculing him.

He extended his thumb and pressed it against one of the spiders, crushing it.

Mongrel frowned. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

Nathan didn't respond. He crushed two more of the spiders.

"What did I tell you?" asked Steamspell, letting out a hearty laugh. "He's trying to eat them with his thumb! I have never been so amused by a display of idiocy!"

Nathan knew that he had the ability to come up with a suitably devastating retort, but instead he ignored the orphanage owner. He continued crushing spiders as quickly as he could.

"Fangboy," said Mongrel, his voice strained, "it is time to eat one of the spiders now."

"In a moment."

"Not in a moment! Now!"

Nathan looked through the selection of spiders and crushed another one. "I'm almost ready."

Mongrel chuckled nervously and turned his attention back to the audience. "When a boy eats spiders for a living, you can't always expect him to behave in a rational manner."

"He won't do it!" Steamspell declared. "He'll spill them all over the front of his shirt instead! Oh, how jolly I feel when I see such foolishness!"

Nathan stared into the box of spiders for a few seconds, making sure he hadn't missed any that he wanted to squash, and then picked up the entire box. Mongrel glared at him with very, very angry eyes. The box was supposed to remain on the floor.

"Go on, eat the spiders!" said Steamspell.

"No," said Nathan. "You eat them!" And with that, he flung the contents of the box toward the audience and Bernard Steamspell in particular.

To say that there was chaos would be an understatement.

Women screamed. Men screamed. People shoved. The entire audience became a flailing mass of panic. Nathan grinned, able to comfortably enjoy the frenzy knowing that he'd behaved in a responsible manner and crushed all of the poisonous spiders before throwing them at people.

Steamspell clawed at his face, which was covered in spiders, and let out a high-pitched scream that was far from demonstrative of the amount of dignity expected from a man of his stature. The cigar dropped from his mouth.

Unfortunately, when the theatre was being built, "fire safety" was not among Professor Mongrel's top ten concerns. (In fact, had he taken the time to rank these concerns, fire safety would have ranked somewhere around forty-seven, right before "identifying the odd green stain on the ceiling" and right after "bolstering the rear wall in case large animals go on a rampage and repeatedly smash against it.")

Most wooden floors, though not fireproof, do not burst into flames as soon as a lit cigar falls upon them. It remains unknown why the floor reacted in this matter. The most widely held theory is that the wood was saturated with gasoline, thus explaining its low cost, although those who argue against the theory counter with the fact that gasoline has a distinct smell and somebody should have noticed.

Regardless of the reason, the floor immediately caught fire. The level of panic increased accordingly.

Steamspell spun in a circle, batting away spiders and flames. "Help me!" he screamed. "Somebody take pity on a poor gentleman who is burning to death!"

The flames quickly spread. Nobody else seemed to be actively on fire, but the flames passed from seat to seat as if blown by a strong wind. Patrons were pouring out of the theatre's four exits, which were providing an excellent means of escape even though they were designed to save wood instead of lives.

Steamspell was perhaps the lowest quality human being Nathan had ever known, yet he certainly couldn't just stand here and let the man burn to death!

He rushed forward, but only made it two steps before Mongrel grabbed the back of his suit. "Where do you think you're going, you miserable little bastard?"

"I have to save him!"

"Let his skin crack and blister! I care not!"

Nathan tried to tug away from him. His costume had been constructed with the same standards of durability as the floor, and the back tore off, freeing Nathan and leaving an enraged Mongrel with a handful of cloth that was of no use to him. Nathan leapt off the stage, thinking that cheap clothing had worked out very well for him in his various escape attempts, and that he would always wear low quality attire in the future.

"It burns! It burns!" Steamspell shouted.

"Drop to the floor and roll!"

"There is no spot that isn't alight!"

"There's a small one, right over there!"

"I'll never reach it in time!"

"It's right next to you!"

"There's a spider in my mouth!"

"Just drop to the floor!"

"I swallowed it!"

Nathan sighed with frustration and then shoved Steamspell, aiming for a non-burning part of the orphanage owner. Steamspell was a large man and the shoving did no good, so Nathan kicked him in the ankle as hard as he could. Steamspell fell to the floor.

"Roll! Roll!"

Though there wasn't much room for Steamspell to roll around between the rows of seats, he was able to roll without actually moving anywhere. Nathan kicked at him to help the process along, and soon the flames died out. Steamspell lay there, face-up, his skin severely burnt and smoke billowing from what little remained of his clothes.

Nathan wondered: would he be grateful to Nathan for saving his life, or would he immediately try to kill him?

The answer seemed obvious, and so Nathan ran.

"Oh no you don't!" shouted Mongrel, grabbing Nathan's arm as he rushed out into the aisle. "You'll not be escaping that easily!"

The sleeve tore off, allowing Nathan to easily escape and deepening his resolve to always wear the cheapest clothes imaginable. He ran up the aisle, blinking back tears from all of the smoke. There were no charred corpses to step over, which was good. He ran out into the lobby, which hadn't yet caught fire, wove through the screaming panicked theatergoers, and hurried into the long narrow hallway. The hallway seemed much shorter when taken at a full run, and soon he reached the exit and rushed outside.

Safe!

Now what? Though people were fleeing to their various means of transportation, Nathan didn't think that any of them would offer a ride to the fang-toothed monster who'd caused the inferno. He could probably escape unnoticed in the pandemonium, but he wanted to quickly get as far from this place as possible.

And--what a stroke of luck!--there were the horses. They no longer had a coach to pull, and he could certainly ride them to safety.

Of course, everybody knows that riding a horse is not as easy as simply jumping upon its back and requesting a destination. It is also important to remember that Nathan was only seven years old, and thus rather short. So though he picked the smaller of the two horses, Nathan struggled and struggled but couldn't climb up onto the animal.

"You stupid horse, let me up there!" he said (something he would later regret, for the horse's height was not its fault). He desperately tried to imagine himself as a taller person, but that did no good. There was no time to seek out a ladder. No time to seek out a trampoline. No time to seek advice from a cowboy.

"I'll have your head!"

Nathan glanced back over his shoulder. Steamspell, who was so badly burnt that Nathan would not have recognized him if he had not witnessed the actual burning process, lurched out of the theatre, arms extended.

Nathan grabbed the horse's tail and, with a sudden burst of strength brought on by desperately not wanting Steamspell to murder him, pulled himself up. He scooted to the center of the horse's back and tugged on its mane. "Yah!" he shouted.

The horse did not move.

"Yah!" he repeated, tugging even harder.

"It's all over for you!" shouted Mongrel, also emerging from the theatre. Kleft was right behind him, holding a revolver.

How could the horse not realize the urgency of the situation? Three different men were trying to kill him! Nathan dug his feet into the horse's sides. "Go, go, go!"

"Shoot him!" said Mongrel.

Kleft extended the revolver and took aim. Nathan had a brief, odd moment where he worried more that Kleft might accidentally shoot the horse. Then, as the bullet nicked his ear, he decided that it was equally valid to focus on the hope that his own body would not get hit.

It goes without saying that when Kleft fired the revolver, he did not have Nathan's best interests in mind. He wasn't necessarily trying to shoot him in the back of the head, but nor was he aiming the gun in such a way that shooting Nathan in the back of the head was entirely out of the question. In fact, had his arm not quivered just a bit, it's safe to assume that he would indeed have shot him there, and Nathan almost certainly would not have survived the experience of the back of his skull being pierced and possibly shattered by a bullet, and the tale of Fangboy would have come to a premature, unsatisfying conclusion. He would never have become a legend. He merely would have been a minor footnote in the saga of mankind: the boy with odd teeth who got shot in the head.

But what Kleft did not anticipate is that though his gunshot had the negative impact of making Nathan's ear hurt, it also startled the horse, causing the stallion to run.

Nathan raced away, thinking how pleasant it would be if Mongrel, Kleft, and Steamspell all decided to cut their losses and not pursue him.

Though it would be unkind to reveal the secrets of this tale to those reading it, it spoils nothing to say that Mongrel, Kleft, and Steamspell did not decide to cut their losses.

NINETEEN

Nathan decided to name his horse Lightning Bolt of Supersonic Speed. Its nickname would be Pursuer Evader. Other horses would hopefully know it as The Stallion Who Effortlessly Saved Nathan Pepper.

"Faster, please," said Nathan, tugging on the horse's mane. "Much, much faster!"

He didn't look back to see what his enemies were doing. He feared that if he did, he might wet himself, and he was having a difficult enough time staying on the horse without the extra lubrication.

The horse galloped down the path. Cars sped past, but the drivers and their passengers seemed more concerned with fleeing the inferno than trying to kill Nathan, which he appreciated.

Many, many thoughts went through Nathan's mind as he rode down the path, thoughts that one would normally express in all capital letters, italics, and perhaps even boldface. But he kept himself focused. All he had to do was hold on to the horse and he'd be free.

He stopped focusing for a moment as he realized that there was now a car on each side of him. The car to the right contained a very-burnt Steamspell, while the car to the left contained an unburnt but nevertheless irate Mongrel and Kleft.

"Leave me alone!" Nathan shouted.

Kleft was driving, allowing Mongrel to lean out the window. "We shall not!"

"Your theatre is gone! There's nowhere to perform! Just let me go!"

"You'll still perform the show...in hell!"

"Then you'd have to go to hell yourself to see the performance! Find something else to do!"

Nathan realized that Mongrel was pointing a gun at him. He fired six bullets, one after the other, but his aim was abysmal due to a combination of the bumpy road and his blind fury, and none of the bullets successfully punctured their target.

"Quit shooting at me!" Nathan shouted.

"We'll do no such thing!"

Nathan wanted to explain that he'd spent several days in jail merely for biting another child on the arm, an infraction that was much less serious than shooting a little boy off a horse. From a strict "not spending the rest of their lives in prison" scenario, it made much more sense for Mongrel and Kleft to turn their car around and let him go.

Mongrel began to reload.

Nathan looked over at Steamspell. His hair and clothes were still billowing. He'd rolled down the windows to let the smoke escape.

Nathan pressed himself down against the horse as tightly as he could, and whispered into its ear. "I appreciate all you've done for me so far. You've been outstanding; I've no complaints. And I don't know if you understand me, but if you do, when I give the signal I ask that you leap into the air as high as you can."

Mongrel finished reloading the gun, and pointed it at Nathan again.

Nathan tugged on the horse's mane. "Jump! Leap high into the air!"

Did the horse understand his words? Did it somehow sense his command? Or did it simply feel like jumping at that particular moment? The answer to this will be forever unknown, but the horse leapt into the air, higher than perhaps any horse had ever leapt, and Nathan let out a victorious cheer as they soared through the air, almost as if they were flying.

The bullet sailed directly underneath the mighty steed.

Through Steamspell's open window.

Past his nose.

And harmlessly out the other window.

Mongrel fired a second shot, but this one was wildly off target and wouldn't have hit Nathan or the horse even if they hadn't been in majestic flight.

Though the bullet did not strike Bernard Steamspell, the jumping horse incident did cause him to recall his youth. As a young boy, he'd wanted nothing more than a horse of his own. He'd ridden branches and broomsticks and anything he could find that was remotely horse shaped, and he'd make the appropriate neighs and whinnies, and he'd pretend that his horse--Thunder--could leap all the way over the sun. But his parents would never buy him a horse. The closest he ever came was when his uncle said "Hey, Bernard, guess what Fido is eating?" So as he watched the horse, his eyes filled with tears at these long-dormant memories, and he felt almost as if he were riding the steed along with Nathan, both of them shouting happily, urging their horse on to greater and greater heights.

And, thus, he was not paying attention to the road.

Had he driven off the left side of the road, he would have crashed into some trees and perhaps lost a limb or two. Not an optimal scenario for him, but something he would have survived and from which his screams of terror and agony would have eventually subsided. Unfortunately, going off the right side of the road involved a much steeper incline. He cried out, said a terrible, terrible word, and then plummeted over the side of the hill, striking the rocky bottom with such impact that the vehicle was crushed all around him.

Were any physicians present, they would have been astounded to see the vast number of body parts it is possible to smash, pierce, twist, remove, and otherwise destroy while remaining very much alive and conscious. Even the most reckless gambler would not have bet upon Steamspell receiving injury to so many different places without dying instantly. Those less experienced with medical matters might even have expressed surprise by how many parts were available to mutilate.

The pain was not insignificant.

As a reminder to those who set this tale aside and returned much later without full memory of the incidents that transpired before, Bernard Steamspell had been burnt head to toe, meaning that his plethora of injuries, which would have been excruciating even on healthy skin, hurt even more.

He would have screamed, had the parts of his body necessary to scream been functioning, or even attached.

His grandmother had always told him that in times of extreme stress, he should imagine a peaceful ocean with waves lapping upon the beach. He tried this, but instead of water the imaginary ocean was filled with acid. Laughing demon faces floated on the surface, their voices mimicking the sounds of those he'd loved and lost. Their giggling grew louder, louder, louder as a spike-laden whirlpool formed, sucking him down into a vortex of serpents and pitchforks.

He returned to reality and cursed his grandmother. Such a foul crone!

The pain grew even worse as some spilled fuel leaked upon him.

The pain grew exponentially worse as his still-smoking hair ignited the fuel.

If you asked most professionals how long a human being could survive a full-body burn, they'd think about it for a bit and then ask why you wanted to know. When pressed, they'd give you an incorrect answer while surreptitiously checking to see if you were in possession of matches. But even the most optimistic estimate would not have come close to the thirty-six days that Bernard Steamspell spent mangled and aflame in that car.

Every day, he prayed that he would starve to death. And every day, the former orphan who lived at the bottom of the hill provided him with a glass of water and a crust of bread, just enough to sustain his life.

Steamspell did not have a last will and testament, nor did he have any living family members. So ownership of his orphanage empire was determined by a grueling race, where ten participants raced across untamed territory for nearly a week to reach the finish line. The winner was to receive Steamspell's vast fortune, while the losers received death by hanging.

Though Tyler Rothenwurt won the race by committing acts of which he would never speak, not even to his wife, he was a kindly orphanage owner, and the children all loved him and flourished under his care, going on to live long, happy lives. The downside was that most great accomplishments are borne of resentment, and had Steamspell remained in charge, a certain Clovis Hart would have discovered the cure for the common cold as well as a means of healing broken bones in half the time. Instead, he settled for a life of blissful mediocrity.

Elsewhere, Mongrel fired again, the bullet missing Nathan's head by barely an inch.

"Please stop doing that!" Nathan shouted. "I'm sorry your theatre is no more!"

Mongrel shot and missed again. This had to be embarrassing for him.

"Can't we bargain?" Nathan asked.

"You'd have to do eighteen shows a day, seven days a week, for fifty years to make up for the damage you've done!"

Nathan considered the offer. Then he remembered that he'd burned down the theatre in an effort to get out of doing a mere one show. "No deal!"

"I wasn't offering you a deal! I was explaining how a deal is impractical, you little fool!"

Nathan felt a bit sheepish. Then Mongrel fired more bullets, missing with every shot and emptying his gun, and he didn't feel so bad.

"That's it!" shouted Mongrel. "I have become so frustrated that my own safety has stopped being important!" He grabbed hold of the steering wheel and twisted it to the right.

"I still care about my safety!" Kleft said in protest, but it was too late.

The art of the Unreliable Narrator is a tricky one. When the narrator has specifically said that a noble horse will survive, is it wrong to later reveal that the horse did not? Would this sever the bonds of trust between the storyteller and the reader, or would it perhaps strengthen them, causing the reader to realize that this is a tale without a safety net, where anything could happen, where perhaps even Nathan himself might perish with dozens of pages remaining?

Most likely the reader would hurl the book against the wall in anger and never purchase another tale from anybody associated with its telling.

Once again the horse leapt into the air, as if it had wings.

Mongrel and Kleft's car swerved underneath the mighty stallion.

And then it landed upon the roof.

Nathan could not hear what the men beneath him were screaming, but it seemed to be variants on "There's a horse on the roof of our car!" The horse's hooves had left a very deep dent, which may or may not have been near one of their heads, so it was also possible that they were screaming about that.

As the horse leapt off, the car plummeted off the side of the road.

Mongrel and Kleft were not as villainous as Steamspell, and did not suffer so horrific a fate. Which is not to say that things did not work out badly for them. The car landed at the bottom of the hill, bounced thrice, and came to a stop. Kleft, shaken but mostly unharmed, peered out the window.

"Does that look like quicksand to you?" he asked.

"It does," said Mongrel.

Their slow descent offered plenty of time to share their feelings and discuss where they'd gone wrong in life. It is safe to say that if they'd been rescued, they would have emerged from the quicksand as better people. Instead, their improved personalities were to be forever submerged in the muck.

Nathan, of course, knew none of these things, and assumed that his enemies were merely unconscious at the bottom of the hill, awaiting arrest.

He was free!

He could return home to Penny and Mary!

He could see Jamison again if he hadn't died yet!

For the first time since being dragged off to jail, Nathan felt as if things might be working out in his favor.

Except that the horse wouldn't stop.

"Whoa, boy," he said. "We should turn around. Home is the other way."

The horse continued to gallop straight ahead.

He tugged on its mane. "Let's turn around. When we get home I'll give you carrots and I'll brush you every day and we'll get you a proper saddle. Such fun we will have!"

The horse continued to gallop straight ahead.

"I don't think you're understanding me. There's nothing for us this way. In the opposite direction, now that's where good things await. I'll bet that Penny and Mary love horses. How can you not love a horse? Please turn around."

The horse continued to gallop straight ahead.

"Argh," said Nathan.

Jumping off the horse seemed like a good way to break a leg, and breaking a leg seemed like a good way to starve to death all alone, so Nathan decided to stay put until the horse got tired. Before too long, the stress of the evening overpowered him, and Nathan wrapped his arms around the horse's neck and went to sleep.

When he woke up, the horse was still running and it was daytime. He wasn't sure if it had run all night, or if he'd slept through its resting period.

"Please turn around," he said, nudging it on the sides with his feet.

The horse continued to gallop straight ahead.

It ran throughout the day, galloping across fields, through two different forests, and through a town where all of the residents thought he was kidding when he shouted "Stop the horse! Stop the horse!"

He fell asleep again.

When he woke up, it was completely dark out and the rotten horse was still running.

"At least let me stop to get something to eat!" he begged.

Again he considered just jumping off, but if he wasted this much time only to end up breaking his leg anyway, he wasn't sure he'd be able to bear it. The horse had to stop eventually. He'd just force himself to stay awake, no matter what.

Night became morning.

He grudgingly admitted that he had to admire the horse's unwavering dedication to running in that particular direction. It was certainly not a wishy-washy creature.

Morning became late morning, which became early afternoon, which became afternoon, which became late afternoon.

He wished he had something with which to club the horse over the head.

Late afternoon became early evening which became evening which became late evening which became night.

Nathan fell asleep.

When he awoke, it was daylight and the horse had stopped running.

TWENTY

It was very cold.

In fact, Nathan was surrounded by ice and snow. There was nothing but blinding white as far as he could see, except for what appeared to be a seal off in the distance. A brutal wind tore through him like frozen daggers whose tips had been dipped in liquid nitrogen.

He wanted to jump off the horse, but he could barely move. His hands were frozen to the horse's mane. Using every bit of strength he could summon, he leaned to the side until he finally fell off the horse, landing in a patch of snow.

The horse turned around and ran off.

Nathan got to his feet and looked around in a complete circle. Was he at the North Pole? He wasn't even sure which direction he'd come from, since the snow had covered up the horse's tracks.

This felt like exactly the kind of circumstance that merited a lengthy, primal scream.

He let one out and felt better.

His teeth were chattering and he wasn't sure he'd be able to feel his tongue if he bit it, so he tried to be careful. He wasn't dressed for this kind of weather at all.

Up ahead. Was that a polar bear?

He stared at it closely.

No, it wasn't a polar bear. Just a regular bear covered with snow.

Though Nathan liked to think that he was relatively brave in the face of danger, he really wasn't up to fighting a bear. If nothing else, he was so cold that he thought his fist would snap off if he punched it. He'd simply stand here and hope that the bear didn't notice him.

The bear was looking in his direction, but Nathan wasn't sure if it had noticed him or not.

The bear began to walk toward him. That wasn't solid proof that it had noticed him. It had to walk in some direction if it didn't want to stand around in the snow all day, so why not walk in Nathan's? It wasn't growling, or at least it wasn't growling loud enough to be heard over the wind. The wind was pretty loud, so it was entirely possible that the bear was growling.

Nathan decided to improve his chances of survival. He dropped to the ground and quickly scooped snow over his body until he was completely covered except for his hands. He pulled those underneath the snow and waited.

His body was so numb that if the bear did start chewing on him, he probably wouldn't even feel it.

He was tired. Exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open, but was it bad to fall asleep when you were stuck out in the snow? He thought he'd heard something about that once. It was either really good or really bad. Either you died or hibernated. He knew for sure that he didn't want to die, and hibernating didn't sound so great, so he just needed to force himself to stay awake until he was sure that the bear had wandered someplace else. Think conscious thoughts. Think about people with their eyes wide open who'd had a full night's sleep and felt no need to yawn. Realize that if he fell asleep, he'd have awful dreams where he stood in his underwear and people pointed and laughed, or he'd forgotten to study for an important test, or he'd grown a dachshund on his chest.

Was the bear gone yet? He didn't hear any footsteps. Usually approaching bears were accompanied by footsteps.

So very sleepy.

If he did get eaten by a bear, perhaps it would be better to be asleep when it happened.

So tired. So cold.

He'd just sleep for a while. Only a little bit. A few minutes, if that. He deserved to get some rest. It had been a challenging week. An Eskimo would probably kill the bear anyway. He was in no danger.

Precious sleep. Sweet sleep. The world's greatest gift.

Nathan let himself drift away...

* * *

Yukon Filly was not a great explorer. He knew this because of his astute sense of self-awareness, and also because everybody kept telling him. He didn't care. Though he had failed to discover the tomb of the Egyptian Pharaoh, and the skeleton of Jack the Ripper, and the Lost River of the Amazon (he did find the river, but it turned out to be fairly well known in that area, with a thriving fishing community) he refused to give up his lifelong quest to find something great. Proof of ghosts, proof of aliens, the Fountain of Youth...it didn't matter which of them he found.

Securing investors for his journeys was becoming more difficult as the failures continued to pile up. He was a very charismatic man and not above making certain sacrifices (such as changing his name) in order to continue his explorations. Nor was he above using a small amount of deception. For example, though he was up in the Frozen North seeking the Abominable Snowman, his investors and the other members of his party thought they were looking for gold.

"There's no gold around here!" said Tyrone, his second-in-command, gesturing to all of the snow and ice.

"Watch your tongue!" Yukon warned. "I won't have your unpleasant attitude spoiling this expedition for the rest of us!"

"But you don't find gold in glaciers! We've been telling you that for the past six days!"

"Is that so? Tell me, Tyrone, have you ever found gold in a glacier?"

"No!"

"Then you've proven my point."

"No, you've proven my point."

"I'm sorry, but I have better things to do than engage in childish bickering over the ownership of points. We will find gold, lots of it, more gold than we can fit on the sleds! So much gold that we will be forever resentful about the enormous amount that we had to leave behind. You'll wake up in the middle of the night wallowing in self pity about how you could have billions of coins instead of merely millions because we abandoned so much of the wealth."

"You're a drunkard."

"I plan to melt down most of my gold into a statue, but it will be a statue of an insignificant historical figure. That way, people will say 'My word, if he can afford to make a solid-gold statue depicting somebody who barely deserves a stone one, he must have more riches than an Egyptian Pharaoh!'"

"Not that you'd know, because you've never found--"

"Enough. You look over there, and I'll look over here. Everybody split up and start looking."

The other five members of the expedition walked around on the ice, searching.

Where was the Abominable Snowman? Yukon hadn't expected to just walk out onto a patch of ice and find it waiting there, but they'd been out here almost a week and they hadn't even found the gnawed bones of its prey.

"Sir! We've found something odd!"

Yukon hurried over to where his fifth-in-command man knelt, digging through the snow. "When I walked over here, I had this strange feeling like I was stepping on somebody's nose. And look!"

He brushed away some more snow, exposing the face of a young boy, enclosed in a block of ice. All of the men gasped.

"We've done it, gentlemen!" Yukon declared. "We've found the Abominable Snowman!"

"He's not a yeti," said Tyrone. "He's a little boy."

"He's a prepubescent shaved yeti," Yukon corrected. "What a find! We'll be rich! We'll be famous!"

"Don't you mean we'll be rich and famous?" Tyrone asked.

"Isn't that what I said?"

"You said you'll be rich and famous."

"No, I didn't. I clearly remember the three instances in my life where I tried to steal credit or money, and this was not one of them. The fame and wealth will be equally divided amongst us."

"Oh. Sorry, I misheard. We assumed that you'd noticed the loophole in the contract that allows you to claim full ownership of all non-gold discoveries."

"Well, I knew about that, of course, but had no plans to enforce it. We're all in this together."

The men continued to brush away the snow until Nathan's body had been fully exposed. He was completely enclosed in a block of ice.

"Incredible," said one of the men. "Do you think we've found a specimen of prehistoric man?"

Yukon shook his head. "His contemporary clothing would indicate otherwise."

"That's not contemporary," said Tyrone, running his index finger along the ice. "A shirt like that hasn't been fashionable in nearly...it stuns me to even say it...eleven years."

"Eleven years? Are you sure?"

"Yes. Though this boy may seem to be seven or eight years old, he is actually eighteen or nineteen."

"Incredible!"

"Do you think he has any gold?" asked one of the other men.

It had indeed been eleven years since Nathan buried himself in the snow to evade the bear, which, ironically, had gorged itself on so many seals earlier in the day that the mere thought of eating Nathan made it queasy. He lay there, skin blue and eyes frozen shut, in a decade-long dreamless sleep.

After a close vote, they'd decided not to use flamethrowers to melt the ice, and instead, after much effort, carved out a rectangular block of ice and dragged it back to town.

Reporters from all over the world showed up. Hundreds of pictures were taken. For nearly three minutes, the news was dominated by the story of The Astounding Frozen Boy.

"Every scientist in the world wants to study him!" Yukon said to the group of men, who were each in the same number of pictures and received equal airtime on the television stations.

"Even botanists?" asked Tyrone.

"Especially botanists! Well, not especially botanists, but they feel there may be some interesting plant life frozen in there with him, perhaps between his toes, and they'd love the opportunity to study it."

"Are we going to let them? I think if we sliced carefully, we could get at least eight hundred strips out of him, and if we auctioned each strip to the highest bidder, we'd make a fortune!"

Yukon shook his head. "Slicing a body like that is not as easy as you would think. But I'm pleased to inform all of you that we have a private individual who wishes to purchase The Astounding Frozen Boy, and he is offering an amount so large that you will call me a liar when I reveal it."

They did call him a liar, several times, but after Yukon produced the paperwork they apologized and rubbed their hands together with glee. The purchaser was scheduled to pick up Nathan's body first thing in the morning. This led to a sudden lack of trust between the men, and after a long dark night of paranoia and double-crosses they all lay dead except for Yukon.

The block of ice with Nathan in it was sold to an heiress named Monika Truant, who loved the idea of the scientific community clamoring for an artifact that she planned only to display to servants who used her walk-in freezer.

Nathan stayed in the freezer for about two months, completely unaware of his fate or even the smiley face that a prankster carved into the ice. Then, one night, Monika woke a servant up out of a sound sleep in order to fetch her a chocolate bar, slightly chilled. The bleary-eyed servant, Candice, left the chocolate in the freezer for a moment, and forgot to close the door after she retrieved it and delivered it to Monika, who instructed her to go outside, find a vagrant, and slowly eat it in front of him.

Throughout the night, the ice melted.

The next day, Nathan lay in a pool of cold water.

"Oh no!" shouted Candice, hurriedly soaking up the water with a sponge and squeezing it onto him, hoping that it would quickly refreeze. "The missus will have my head on a skewer! Whatever shall I do?"

After some thought, she came up with an excellent plan: drag Nathan's body out of the house, ask the gardener to bury him in exchange for twenty minutes of frenzied carnality, and vow never to speak of the incident again.

Nathan opened his eyes. "Watch out!" he cried. "There's a bear!"

"You...you...you're alive!"

Nathan realized that there was no bear, and that he was no longer buried beneath the snow. He looked around, confused as to how he got to where he was.

"I'm very cold," he said.

"As well you should be! Do you realize that you've been frozen in a block of ice for eleven years?"

"Nonsense!" said Nathan. "What year is it?"

Candice told him.

"That's eleven years after the year I thought it was! How has this happened?" Nathan tried to stand up, but he could barely move except to turn his head. Such cruel fate! Eleven years lost! Eleven birthdays wasted! Jamison must certainly be dead by now. Penny and Mary's memory of him couldn't have lasted more than six or seven years, could it? He was long forgotten by everybody who'd ever known him!

"Your teeth!" said Candice. "Show me your teeth again!"

"My teeth are unimportant!" Nathan insisted. "What's important is that I've been frozen for eleven years!"

"You have the teeth of a demon!" Candice screamed. "That is why you are not dead! You're a blue-skinned, fanged demon! Begone! Begone!" She jammed the end of the mop into his face and began to twist it back and forth.

"Leave me alone!" Nathan shouted.

"Demon! I cast you back to the pits of Hades!"

"Demons aren't frozen!" said Nathan. "They're extremely hot!"

Candice stopped twisting the mop. "But they also practice trickery and deception. What better way for a demon to hide its true self than to hide in a block of ice that would melt within seconds in hell?"

"I'm just a regular boy! Please, I can't move, but if you draw me a warm bath and let me soak for a while, I will leave and you'll never see me again."

"I don't know..."

"Please." Nathan tried to give her his most soulful expression, though with his face so badly frozen he wasn't sure if he looked sympathetic or like a twisted mask of horror.

Candice was silent for a long time. Then she nodded. "All right. But you can't use one of the good bathtubs."

There was a lot of hair floating in the tub as Candice eased Nathan into the water. He hoped it belonged to dogs. The initial sensation of frozen skin sliding into hot water was akin to a thousand red-hot needles stabbing into each square inch of his flesh and being jiggled around by a madman, but the feeling gradually improved.

"Where did you come from?" asked Candice. "A land far away?"

"Yes," Nathan replied. "I mean, not like outer space or anything, but I live several days from here, in a town called Giraffe Pond where the people accept my differences and do not judge me for them, except when..." He almost said "except when they throw me in jail for them," but that seemed to be contradictory to the point he was trying to make, so he omitted that part.

"Is it a beautiful place?" Candice asked.

Nathan nodded. "Very beautiful. They don't have huge mansions like this one, but--"

"Never mind, then. It would be kind of absurd for me to move away without a mansion like this one waiting for me at my destination. Can you move yet?"

Nathan raised his arm out of the water. It was the one that had been dunked in boiling oil, but the eleven years encased in ice seemed to have fixed it up. "Yes. Thank you." His skin was still blue, but now it was a light blue rather than a dark blue, almost turquoise, and he guessed that he'd return to his pinkish state before too much longer.

"What is going on here?" said a voice that was neither Nathan nor Candice, at a volume that was significantly louder than what they'd been using to carry on their conversation.

Monika stood in the doorway to the bathroom, looking positively furious. Nathan, of course, did not know that she was Monika or that she owned the mansion, but he picked up on the general idea of their relationship very quickly.

"Nothing, ma'am," said Candice.

"Nothing? I catch you in the act of bathing the secret illegitimate child you've clearly been hiding in my home all these years, and you say nothing? How much of my food has he eaten? How often have you used the wind in my backyard to dry clothing on his behalf?"

"It's not like that at all," said Candice, doing some quick mental calculations on whether she'd get in more trouble for accidentally melting the Astounding Frozen Boy or for hiding away a love child. She decided that the melting was worse. "All right, I apologize for--"

"She freed me from my prison of ice," said Nathan. "She is blameless in this matter."

Candice smacked him on the back of the head. "Don't call your mother 'blameless,' you disobedient brat."

Monika narrowed her eyes. "It is the ice boy. Did you leave the freezer door open?"

"Oh, no, ma'am, the ice cracked all around him, as if his dormant superhuman strength suddenly rose to the surface, and he broke his way out with a power few could have imagined!"

"She flatters me," said Nathan, "but the truth is that I lay helpless on the floor in a pool of melted ice--water, I suppose you could call it--and were it not for her generosity, I might have died. She should be praised and rewarded."

Candice pointed at Nathan's face. "He is a mutant with fearsome teeth! Run, ma'am! We must run before he kills us all!"

"Stop being so prone to mindless panic. He's only a young oh my goodness gracious his teeth are hideous protect me protect me protect me!"

Candice rushed over to the doorway. "Come with me, ma'am! I shall barricade the doors and protect you from this vicious beast!"

They fled. Nathan wanted to soak in the tub some more, but he felt that wasn't such a good idea, and so he got out of the water, grabbed a towel, and dried himself off.

If you looked in the dictionary under "wretched," you would not see a photograph of the clothes Nathan was frozen in, since the makers of dictionaries are rarely so lazy as to simply include a photograph rather than a proper definition, but wretched and mildewed they were. Even when enclosed in ice, clothes are not intended to be worn for eleven years, and Nathan had no desire to put them back on, despite his decision to wear only cheap clothing. So he tied the towel around his waist and hurried out of the bathroom.

"I'll stand in front of you, ma'am!" Candice shouted from the end of the hall. "If he charges like a bull, I'll throw myself in front of his horns!"

Nathan went the other way.

The mansion was a maze of winding hallways, staircases, and doors that led nowhere, but fortunately he'd been bathing in a room that was right next to a side exit and he made his way out of the house with minimal effort.

He walked away, joints still creaking a bit, skin still light blue, still feeling an inner chill, but at least he hadn't been eaten by that bear.

"Nathan..." whispered a voice in his ear.

He looked around. There was nobody there.

"Nathan..." whispered the same voice in his other ear.

"Who is that?" he asked.

A figure, barely visible, materialized next to him. It looked more like fumes than a person.

"Nathan, this is your father."

TWENTY-ONE

"My...father?"

"Yes."

"Are you a ghost? Or am I going mad?"

"It's actually both. But don't worry, Nathan, the madness will fade before long. Do not be ashamed of it. A man who spends eleven years in a block of ice and emerges sane was mad when he started."

"What?"

"There are things you must know about this new world. It takes more coins to buy things than it once did. If you attempt to purchase a loaf of bread and hand them only a half-coin, as you would have in the past, the grocer will stare at you impatiently and await additional funds."

"Are you in heaven?"

The apparition chuckled. "I'd tell you, but then I'd be killed." What little of its face that Nathan could recognize turned serious. "No, really, I would. A strange thing to say since I'm already dead, I know, but you can also die in the afterlife, which is at least three times worse than dying in the regular life. They're very big on keeping secrets here. I've already said too much."

"Is Mom with you?"

"She's right here. We've been watching over you. Not such an interesting process during your decade in the ice, but we've never left you. Not ever."

"Am I...am I making you proud?"

"Very much so. Your mother and I have never stopped being proud of you. We're up here with a lot of deceased parents who are watching over their children, and while I won't get into the details, there have been many viewing experiences that were extremely uncomfortable, activities that were really never meant to be witnessed unless one was an active participant, and there will be plenty of awkward conversations when these children join their parents in the afterlife. But you, Nathan, have behaved heroically. You've been compassionate. I'm not going to lie and say that it was a good idea to bite that kid on the arm--obviously, your mother and I were up here shouting 'Don't do it! Don't do it!' and we both sort of looked at each other and cringed when you did it, but when you consider a lot of the other things you could have done at your age, the level of shame is comparatively low. Now, we do have to acknowledge that the teenage years are where most of the truly distasteful sights occur, and you either missed those years or just haven't gone through them yet--I'm not entirely sure how that works with the whole frozen-in-ice thing, but to answer your question, yes, you are making us very, very proud."

"Thank you, Dad. But what should I do now?"

"Go home. People there still care about you. They still miss you."

"Are they still alive?"

"Well, most of them. It's not as if you've woken into a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Go to them."

"I will!" said Nathan, feeling more excitement than he had in the past eleven years. "I'll find somebody with a car and beg for a ride immediately!"

"No," said the ghost. "You must walk."

"Walk?"

"Yes. This is a journey you must take on foot. It will be a time for personal growth and spiritual reflection."

"I don't think I need any of that."

The ghost frowned. "All right, the truth is, with your skin that blue color, people are going to be somewhat squeamish about giving you a ride, and with your track record there's very little doubt that you'll end up strapped to a table in the laboratory of a mad scientist whose experiments will give new meaning to the word 'invasive.'"

Nathan had to admit that the scenario sounded plausible.

"All right," he said. "I shall walk."

"Take in the beauty of the world as you do. Appreciate every leaf. Actually, no, leaves are best appreciated as a whole, but appreciate the sun, the moon, the stars, the soil, the mountains, the starfish, the art of clever merchandising, the rocks...anything that's not foaming at the mouth and trying to consume you, you should appreciate."

"I will," said Nathan. "I promise I will."

"Good boy. And now I must fade away as if I were never here in the first place, leaving you to doubt your own memory and sanity. But when you think you might have imagined the whole thing, you'll need to merely gaze upon the lengthy scar I'm going to leave upon your leg, as proof positive that this whole encounter did indeed occur."

"Given the choice, I'd rather not have the scar."

"Oh. Okay, then. Fair enough. I'd practiced for months to be able to have that kind of influence over the physical plane, but no matter. Best of luck with your journey, my son. I know that you'll make it home safely."

And then he faded away, as if he'd never been there in the first place.

Nathan cried a little bit, because he desperately missed his mother and father. But he would be okay. He would get to see his new family and friends again.

He began to walk.

* * *

There are some tales that demand an epic length. Their complexity of storyline and depth of character are so immense that every detail must be shared with the reader, lest some crucial element be lost. These tales can go on for thousands of pages and remain enthralling for each and every one of them, and when the tale reaches its final word, the reader feels disappointed, wishing the experience could last even longer, perhaps immediately returning to the first page to begin the story anew.

This particular tale, however, benefits from some compression. Therefore, though it was highly eventful and ripe with adventure, we shall skip the majority of Nathan's journey back home. Some of it was, quite frankly, redundant to other parts that have already been told. For example, there was a great deal of walking around in the woods that was not notably different from the section earlier on where he was lost in the woods for a year. Also, there was another chase on a horse. The circumstances that led to him overcoming his distrust of horses were fairly interesting, and the chase itself was a cavalcade of thrills, but again, it was remarkably similar to the horse chase wherein Steamspell, Kleft, and Mongrel lost their lives, and is best glossed over.

And so we will resume our story as Nathan walked onto the outskirts of the town of Giraffe Pool. His skin had indeed changed back to its natural pinkish color. And his teeth were loose. All of them.

He'd noticed this the same day he'd been thawed. All of his teeth were a little wobbly. He supposed that it made sense--if he was actually eighteen years old, then all of his baby teeth should have fallen out long ago, so this was his body trying to catch up.

By the time he reached the outskirts of town, half of them had fallen out, leaving several gaps in his smile. He gazed into a pool of water and decided that he looked even more horrific this way, like a fanged hillbilly.

He kept the teeth, and when he would sit down to rest he would add each new arrival to a necklace. Though it seemed morbid, it was preferable to keeping them in his pocket and constantly getting poked.

(Also, the moment in which he stole a new set of clothes from a clothesline was fraught with suspense--the dog almost got him!--but was ultimately too similar to the other moment in which he stole clothing.)

The town seemed somehow different. There was more mold than he'd remembered. More litter in the streets. More people breaking windows, ducking into stores, and leaving with their arms full of goods that were clearly not paid for. More screaming. More gunshots. More examples of the elderly being shoved to the ground and clubbed over the head.

It was as if the entire town had gone mad.

Nathan just stood there, staring at the chaos and destruction, wondering what could possibly have happened.

He ducked out of the way as an ocelot was hurled at his face.

"What has happened here?" he cried out, hoping that by asking this question out loud instead of merely wondering about it, he might get an answer.

"Cover your nose!" shouted a man, right before he jabbed a corn dog into somebody's nose.

Had Nathan been a key force in maintaining the sanity of the town? Had things degenerated as soon as he left? Was it possible that though people considered him a freak, he was in fact the only thing maintaining the status of normalcy?

The answer to these questions is: no.

Dr. Thompson, who careful readers will remember had been Nathan's physician as a child, had retired the previous autumn, intending to live out the rest of his years doing absolutely nothing. This worked out well for a few months, until he realized that a complete and utter lack of activity, while appealing in concept, was rather dull. And so, upon his wife's urging, he began to test out random scientific experiments. Most of the results were buried in his backyard. But while experimenting with water purification, he discovered a chemical that would turn murky, contaminated water into water that was pure and crystal clear.

His initial thought was to use this discovery to benefit towns that had a poor quality water supply. Then he decided that perhaps he should use it on towns such as his own, whose water was quite good, and create a water supply that was so astonishingly pure and crystal clear that drinking it would create a town of intellectually and physically superior beings, perhaps even with psychic abilities.

Considering how difficult it was to gain access to the main water supply into which to pour the chemical, one might think that Dr. Thompson would have taken the time to test it on an individual before he gave it to the townspeople en masse. That thought did occur to him, and he wasn't quite sure why he'd ignored it. Perhaps, deep inside, he craved the thrill of not knowing how hundreds of people would react to ingesting his experimental chemical.

They reacted by going insane and embarking on sprees of violence and destruction.

"Excuse me," said Nathan to a man who was running past. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"To the best of my knowledge, it's the end of mankind." The man's eyes widened. "Aren't you...no, it can't be...it's not possible...there's just no way...it simply cannot be...are you Nathan Pepper's younger brother?"

"No, I'm..." Nathan suddenly realized who he was speaking to. "Are you Jamison?"

"Nathan?"

"Jamison! You didn't die while I was away!"

"Nathan! This is incredible! Apart from your several missing fangs, you look exactly the same! Which would be a compliment if we were in our forties, but since we're eighteen, it's somewhat eerie and off-putting."

A woman ran up to them. "I will eat eighty magic markers before the day is through! Don't tell me I won't!" She growled and ran away.

"Is there somewhere we can go and talk?" Nathan asked.

"Yes, I was running toward safe haven when you first spoke to me. As far as I know, there are no insane people in the Department of Motor Vehicles. Let's hide there."

There were, in fact, two insane people in the DMV, but they knocked each other unconscious shortly after Nathan and Jamison entered the building. They hurried behind the vacant counter and crouched down out of sight.

"So, Nathan, is it really truly you?" Jamison asked. "Or have I gone mad as well?"

"It's me." Nathan was astonished at the physical appearance of his best friend. Jamison was no longer thin and sickly. He was handsome, muscular, and had an aura of self-confidence that had been missing when he was a dying little boy. "Did they find a cure for your disease?"

Jamison shrugged. "Every two weeks I went in for my doctor's appointment, and every two weeks they were reluctant to schedule another appointment because they doubted I would still be alive to keep it. But I did not die. My parents are very organized people and liked to plan ahead, so they purchased larger and larger caskets, but I continued to grow and continued to not die. Finally I decided that it probably wasn't going to happen. I'm not living my life as if I'm immortal--Gordon tried that, and it earned him a face full of bottle rockets--but I'm also not living it as if I'm dying. So why do you still look seven?"

"I was frozen in ice."

"Were you really?"

"Yes. Just like a box of fish sticks."

"My word. If the citizens of this town weren't running around in a state of deranged frenzy, that would be the oddest thing I'd heard all day."

"Do you know what has caused it?"

Jamison shook his head. "I was just about to have a cool refreshing glass of water from the tap to help me think, when somebody burst into my home with an electric carving knife. It wasn't plugged in and they don't make cordless models, but the blades were no less sharp. Since then I've been on the run."

"How terrible."

"I'm glad you're back," said Jamison. "Even though I no longer need pity friendship, I'm glad you're back."

"Thank you." And now it was time to finally ask the question for which Nathan wasn't sure he truly wanted to know the answer. "Penny and Mary. How are they?"

Jamison frowned. "The Poor House is a dark, dark place, and once you've gone to live there, it's very hard to get free."

"But has it been attacked by those afflicted?"

"I don't know. I mean, I literally just got away from the man with the electric carving knife. If I'd known you'd suddenly show after eleven years, I would have checked up on the Poor House, absolutely, but otherwise it wasn't the first thing on my mind."

"I have to go to them."

Jamison nodded. "I understand. You'd be a reprehensible scoundrel if you didn't."

"Will you go with me?"

"Of course I will."

They peeked over the top of the counter. A woman with a shotgun walked past the entrance, but she didn't come inside.

"We need a plan," said Nathan.

"No, we'll be fine without one. It's really just a matter of avoiding people. Move quickly, no unnecessary shouting, don't close your eyes for extended periods of time...basic stuff like that."

"Doesn't that count as a plan?"

"Those are just safety precautions. See, when you become as old as I am you'll realize these things." Jamison considered that. "Are you eighteen or seven? How does that work?"

"I think I'm considered an eighteen-year-old in a seven-year-old's body. I'll have to use disclaimers for the rest of my life."

"Wow. That's going to get tiresome."

"I know. As if the teeth didn't give me enough to deal with."

"Well, it could be worse. At least you know about things like fire and yogurt. Can you imagine if you'd be frozen eleven thousand years ago instead of eleven? You wouldn't even understand what I'm saying right now, because I'm using words instead of grunts."

"Or if I'd been frozen for eleven thousand years starting eleven years ago. It would be a world of spaceships and robots that train pigeons to do their bidding."

"Yes. Well. The passage of time has obviously created a distinct difference in our maturity levels, so let's focus on the task at hand."

They left the building and hurried down the street.

"Do you think the citizens will get better?" Nathan asked.

"I'm not sure."

"We should approach this matter as if they are going to get better, and not maim anybody."

"I agree," said Jamison. "We wouldn't want to have a pile of corpses at our feet and find out that their sanity could be restored with a nap."

Fewer crazed citizens attacked them than Nathan would've thought--it was approximately six or seven, and he would've expected twelve or even thirteen. Fortunately, the fact that these citizens were insane made them relatively easy to outwit and escape.

"May I ask you a potentially awkward question?" asked Jamison, as they jogged away from a middle-aged woman who was throwing cans of carbonated beverages at them.

"Absolutely."

"Why didn't you call?"

"Excuse me?"

"I don't mean while you were frozen in the ice. But after you became unfrozen, why didn't you give somebody a heads-up that you were on your way back to town? I'm not bothered by it or anything; it just seems like it would have been a natural part of the homecoming process."

"I honestly have no answer for that."

"Fair enough."

A man ran at them, wielding a pair of beagles. They evaded him and moved on.

"There," said Jamison, pointing ahead with a trembling finger. "That's where you'll find poor Penny and poor Mary."

"But it's not even a house!"

Jamison gave him a sad nod. "If only they could afford a house."

It was a hole in the ground, about two feet wide. They walked over to the edge and peered downward into the thick, impenetrable darkness.

"Is there a ladder?" Nathan asked.

"Ladders cost money."

The tears began to flow and there was nothing Nathan could do to stop them. "There isn't even a welcome mat, or a mailbox. They've been living in a pit because of me! A pit! They took me in, fed me, clothed me, forced me to become partially educated, and treated me with nothing but kindness, and because of it they're living in a miserable dark pit!"

"I would comfort you and say that it wasn't your fault," said Jamison. "But...well, you know..."

"I'm going to make this right," Nathan vowed. "I won't merely get them out of this pit. I'm going to give them a life of luxury, where they live in a mansion and have twenty-five servants and unlimited grapes and where their salt comes from exotic lands yet they pour it out just to amuse themselves!"

There was a scream of terror from within the pit.

"That sounded like Penny!" Nathan exclaimed. Actually, it didn't, not even close, but Nathan had gotten himself worked up and was ready for action. Jamison seemed to understand that Nathan needed to pretend that the scream, which quite clearly belonged to a stranger, belonged to somebody who'd loved him and cared for him, and so he did not contradict him.

"Shall I come with you?" Jamison asked. "Or is this something you must do on your own?"

"Oh, no, I definitely want you to come along," said Nathan. "My conscience will be just as eased if you end up saving them. I'm thinking about the end result and not the process. But I'll go first."

And with that, Nathan took a deep breath, held his nose, and jumped into the pit.

TWENTY-TWO

He plummeted in the darkness for so long that he started to worry that his bones might be shattered upon hitting the bottom. The destitute residents of town would certainly be less of an inconvenience to the wealthy residents if their bones were all broken and they merely flopped around in this pit. But he'd heard screams, so somebody was alive down there.

Splat!

The "splat" sound was not a result of Nathan's flesh being jettisoned from his skeleton upon impact, but rather his body landing in a patch of mud. Or what he thought was mud. Poor people couldn't afford jelly, so it was probably mud.

He quickly crawled out of the way so that Jamison would not land on him, snapping his spine. There wouldn't be much of a victory in saving the sisters if he became a quadriplegic who required their constant care.

Jamison landed in the mud next to him. "Such a stench!" he declared, sitting up and wiping his face. "Good God! Who knows how long this mud has been here?"

Nathan and Jamison crawled out of the muck. There was a light glow to the left, so they decided to walk over there instead of in a direction that did not have a light glow, and Nathan pulled aside a ratty curtain.

The room, lit by the candlelight of a very inexpensive candle, was filled with forty or fifty people, even though it seemed to have space for only twelve. Such a tragic sight! The children in the orphanage had not exactly sparkled with good health, but these people were covered with filth of every sort, their faces hollow, their chests sunken. Bugs crawled over everything and everyone, and Nathan saw that at least three of them had actual weeds growing out of the dirt on their bodies.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "I never meant for this to happen."

Whoever had screamed before, screamed again.

There was a doorway--just the doorway, not the door, since doors were far too expensive--on the other side of the room. Somebody over there needed help, desperately.

"Are any of you Penny or Mary?" Nathan asked, quickly scanning the crowd. He wasn't sure he'd recognize them even if he saw them.

The residents were all too weak to speak or shake their heads, so nobody answered. After gazing at each grim face, Nathan decided that none of them belonged to the sisters. "Pardon me," he said to the group. "I have to get to that doorway!"

The condition of these people was a sight that would haunt Nathan for the rest of his days, but from a "glass is half full" perspective, at least it was easy to push past them. Nathan and Jamison passed through the doorway and entered another room, where a deranged looking man with wild hair stood, holding a baseball bat over his head. A woman cowered on the floor, hands shielding her face.

"Stop!" shouted Nathan. "Leave her alone!"

"I'll leave her alone all right," said the man with a snarl. "Leave her alone after I bash her head in!" He chuckled as if this were a terribly witty comment, though it obviously was not.

Nathan wasn't sure what to do. Since the woman had been screaming for a while and there were no visible signs of her having already been struck by the baseball bat, he assumed that the man was in no rush to complete the job, but would he lollygag for much longer?

Nathan didn't hesitate. He had been beaten so many times in his life, not to mention getting shot and having his arm dunked in boiling oil, that the idea of a baseball bat cracking across his forehead wasn't intimidating. He was so used to injury that he'd even forgotten about the bullet that had nicked his ear, which was something that most little boys would have thought about a great deal.

The crack of the baseball bat across his forehead did hurt when it happened, though. He fell to the ground.

"You bastard!" Jamison screamed. "His mind is only seven years old!"

Jamison rushed forward, received his own attention from the bat, and fell to the ground next to Nathan, unconscious.

Nathan crawled over to the man and grabbed his leg. Nobody would fault him for using his teeth to save an innocent woman, would they? At this point, what did it matter if Officer Danbury wanted to send him to jail again? He opened his mouth wide and chomped down on the man's leg.

Pain shot through his mouth, and two of his loose teeth came free. And with that, all three of the conscious people in the room were screaming.

The man raised his baseball bat, preparing to deliver a blow that Nathan thought might knock his head straight down the center of his body until he was peering through his own navel. Nathan bit him again. This time only one tooth popped out, though the pain was still noteworthy. The man yelped, dropped his baseball bat, and ran back into the room with the dirty withered people.

"Are you okay?" Nathan asked the woman, gently pulling her hands away from her face. She wasn't a woman, really, more like a girl, around Jamison's new age.

She looked familiar.

"Beverly?" he asked.

"Nathan? Is it really you?" Her eyes glistened. "I haven't seen you since I beat you up in school those four different times! I heard you'd gone off to make your fortune!"

"I had, sort of, but not as voluntarily as I would have liked." He tapped Jamison's shoulder. Jamison waved him away and rolled over on his side, gently snoring. Nathan quickly gathered up his teeth and shoved them into his pockets. "How did you end up living in the Poor House? I'd have thought you could punch your way into a good job, easily."

"I volunteer here on weekends. They are too poor to afford water, so I was bringing them a barrel of imitation water when this man came after me and chased me right down into the pit. I'm not as brutal as I once was, Nathan. I'm afraid the years have turned me soft and feminine. I've kissed two boys in the past year alone."

Nathan found himself growing mildly jealous, even though he didn't like Beverly or girls in general.

"Not that I'm helpless and delicate," Beverly assured him. "I'm just not as well equipped to handle madmen with bats as I once was." She tilted her head to the side as she stared at him. "You look exactly the same except for your missing teeth. How is that possible?"

He told her the story, leaving out the parts that might cast him in a negative light. He wasn't sure why he cared what she thought of him, since she was mean, but though he didn't lie about anything, he did feel compelled to paint himself in a more heroic manner.

"What a tale!" Beverly said. "I'd thought that almost getting hit with the baseball bat was the worst moment of my life, but you've far eclipsed me. Forced to eat spiders? How awful!"

"Penny and Mary, the sisters who cared for me. Do you know where they are?"

"Oh, Nathan, hadn't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"It's most dreadful news indeed!"

"What is it?"

"Oh, I'm not sure I can be the one to tell you!"

"Are they dead?"

"No, not both of them but..."

"Even one of them dead is far too many!"

"Actually, I don't think either of them are dead. But it's worse! Much worse! Of course, it all depends on your point of view. Some would think that it wasn't as bad."

"What happened to them?"

"They were banished."

"Banished? From the Poor House?"

"No, from the entire town, never to return under threat of being buried alive! And not the good kind of buried alive, where you're given a flashlight and reading material, but the horrible kind of buried alive, where you're given a gun with which to end your own life if you're so inclined, but when you press it to your head and work up the courage to pull the trigger you hear only a click and discover that the gun had no bullets, and so you're forced to beat yourself to death with it in order to avoid a slow death by suffocation!"

"What could they have done to deserve such a thing?"

Beverly lowered her eyes. "You won't like the answer."

"Well, I mean, we are talking about them being banished under threat of being buried alive, so I wasn't expecting a good answer." Nathan gasped with horror. "It wasn't my fault, was it?"

"Not in a direct cause/effect fashion, but there was a great deal of anger related to your existence. Officer Danbury had apparently been given a small pouch of coins upon your release from jail, and discovered that they were worthless imitations. He tried to purchase a refreshing treat, and the ice cream vendor told him that the coins were the wrong shade of copper and that the politician depicted on them was facing the wrong way. And the leather pouch that contained the coins was not leather at all, but burlap. He was furious! He was so angry that he lobbied to have Penny and Mary banished from town, and, sadly, he was successful."

"No!" said Nathan, drawing out the vowel for as long as he could.

"Oh, Nathan, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"If you know where they're currently living, you could share that information with me."

"And if I knew it, I would share it, I promise. But nobody knows where they've gone, except for perhaps...perhaps...oh, I dare not even speak the name..."

"Officer Danbury?"

"No."

"Mrs. Calmon, our former schoolteacher?"

"No."

"Then who? Who?"

"None other than Mortus Ranklin!"

"I don't actually know who that is."

"He's a ghastly man. To look into his eyes is to know that all puppies eventually grow old and perish. His scowl could turn the happiest elf into the saddest druid. But he knows things. Dark things. Sinister things. And he might know where Penny and Mary have gone."

"Then I shall speak to him."

"Speak to who?" asked Jamison, rubbing his head and sitting up.

"Mortus Ranklin," said Beverly.

"Oh, hell no."

"If he's the only one who can help us, then I will speak to him, no matter what," said Nathan.

Jamison shook his head. "You don't understand. To look into his eyes is to know that the market for freshly born infant noses is alive and well. His scowl could turn the merriest leprechaun into the most despondent sasquatch. That said, he does keep pretty good tabs on the people who were banished from our community, so he'd be an excellent resource."

"If you knew that they were banished, why did you let me come here?" Nathan asked.

"I didn't know they were banished until Beverly said it."

"If you heard Beverly say it, why did you pretend to still be unconscious?"

Jamison fidgeted a bit. "I just...I'm not...look, I spent most of my life thinking I was dying, and thus need not answer for my actions."

"How do we get out of here?" Nathan asked.

"The only way is back up the pit, the way we came," said Beverly. "We'll have to form a human ladder. The residents don't enjoy it, what with their bones being so brittle and all, but they're easy to lift and they don't move around much once they're in place."

After they climbed out of the pit, Nathan said "I thank both of you for your help. I won't ask you to put yourself in any more danger. If you wish not to accompany me on the rest of my journey, I will completely understand."

"I'm with you," said Jamison.

"As am I," said Beverly.

"Is this because you're honoring the bonds we formed as children, or because your town has become overrun by lunatics?"

"A little of both for me," said Jamison.

"I didn't like you until about thirty minutes ago, and I didn't realize that the town was overrun by lunatics until you just said it. I'd assumed that the man with the baseball bat was an isolated case. I'm very uncomfortable now. So neither option was correct."

"It doesn't matter. Let us go to see Mortus Ranklin!"

TWENTY-THREE

There were many villains in the world of Fangboy, but his encounter with Mortus Ranklin was so terrifying that it would be irresponsible of any storyteller to share more than brief snippets.

"However dangerous this turns out to be, it can't be worse than what has come before..."

"He lives in there? Nobody could live in such a place! It is not possible, or even imaginable! It looks just like a..."

"I cannot scream! I cannot scream! Until this very moment I never knew that it was possible for the human body to be so terrified that it couldn't emit a scream sound, but that's exactly the situation I find myself in right now..."

"So much blood...so much blood..."

"To look into his eyes is to know that because babies look so similar, hospitals give the wrong ones to parents at least fifteen percent of the time..."

"Well, it's a relief that we lived through that, but can we live through this...?"

"Through this experience and our mutual terror, we have forged a bond that can never be broken. No matter how far apart our individual destinies take us, we shall always know that we have each other to count on..."

"Help! Help! Help! Help! Help..."

"That's right, Mortus Ranklin, we've beaten you! Now tell me where Penny and Mary have gone, or we'll do that thing again, but even worse..."

With Mortus Ranklin finally defeated, Nathan, Beverly, and Jamison walked toward the edge of town. Ranklin's directions had been vague, but it was a start, and Nathan was determined to walk the earth until he found the sisters.

Beverly looked back at the town where she'd grown up, the town where she'd spent her entire life, the town whose borders she'd never crossed. Could she really leave? Was she truly ready to embark upon this new adventure?

As she looked at Nathan, she felt that, yes, she was ready. But she also felt that it might be wise to at least do some cursory research on the current situation with the town's residents before she fully committed to a course of action.

It turned out that the effect of Dr. Thompson's tainted water was intense but brief, and everybody had recovered, and the apologies were flying fast and furious.

"I always had a crush on you," Beverly told Nathan. "And being reunited after so long stirs up those old feelings. But this is my home, and it is where I must stay."

Nathan nodded. "I understand."

"We cannot be together, not when I'm eighteen and you're seven. It would be sick and wrong. But when I'm twenty-nine and you're eighteen, the morally repugnant element will disappear. So I promise you, Nathan Pepper, if you return for me in eleven years' time, I will divorce whoever I have married and we shall be husband and wife."

"And I will return for you," said Nathan.

Beverly gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. "Best of luck. I hope you find them."

"Thank you."

"For what it's worth," said Jamison, "I'd be happy to take on the role of the placeholder husband."

"I appreciate and decline the offer."

"I'll accompany Nathan, then."

And so they walked out of town.

"I'm glad you're here with me," said Nathan. "I've spent so much of my life alone. Granted, more than half of it was spent encased in a block of ice and I wasn't truly aware of my loneliness, but still, it's good of you to be my friend."

"And it's good of you to be mine, Nathan. Don't worry. We'll find them. I know we will."

As they peered ahead into the great land that stretched before them, the way seemed long. But the sky was bright, and they somehow felt that they were headed in the right direction.

The End

TWENTY-FOUR

The tale of Fangboy has been told many times by many different people in many different languages, and one of the most controversial aspects of certain versions is how they simply end, resolving nothing. If a formal study of such matters were ever conducted, it is estimated that nearly one out of every twenty homes contains at least one wall that has been dented by a copy of Fangboy (or, in this modern age, the electronic device upon which it was read) being flung at great force. However, no study of that sort has ever been conducted.

It is rumored that the original teller of the tale, Wilbur Tank, believed that he had scorpions wriggling around inside of his legs, and he feared that they might burst out at any moment. His paranoia became greater and greater with each passing day, and he began to fear that he might not see his book published before the flood of scorpions emerged. So he decided that an arbitrary, unsatisfactory ending was in order.

Before he could finish typing it, the scorpions did indeed burst out of his legs. They were small ones, but no less fierce than their full-sized counterparts, and Wilbur Tank's demise was most messy indeed. The tale was published with only twenty-three chapters, much to the fury of readers.

Since the tale of Fangboy is entirely factual, however, it wasn't long before another journalist, R.K. Clovis, compiled the rest of the saga using public records and interviews that he conducted with the participants.

And so the tale continues...

* * *

"Considering that our hellish encounter with Mortus Ranklin is forever burned into my psyche, I do wish we'd gotten better directions from him than 'Go south,'" said Jamison, as they continued walking south.

"I agree with you," said Nathan. "But when life hands you lemons, make lemonade."

"Is that how the saying goes? I'd always heard it as 'When life hands you lemons, squeeze lemon juice into somebody's eyes and giggle, giggle, giggle.'"

"Despite your not dying, the years have not been kind to you, have they?"

"Not at all," said Jamison. "There's so much I wanted to accomplish in life. I thought I'd have a career. A family of my own."

"At eighteen?"

"I'm ambitious, yes, but I don't necessarily see that as a negative thing. And I would have been satisfied with merely acquiring a social life. I have nothing, Nathan. Without being the Friend of the Fang-Toothed Boy, I became so unmemorable that I might as well not have existed at all."

Nathan spat a tooth out onto his palm.

"Is that the last of them?" Jamison asked.

"Not yet. But I'm down to two. The soreness of my gums is almost unbearable."

"Perhaps we should rest for the night."

They built a campfire, piled some small rocks to use as pillows, and lay out under the stars.

"Do you know any of the constellations?" Nathan asked, adding his new tooth to the necklace.

"I know most of them." Jamison pointed to the sky. "That one is Frankenstein. That one over there is The Great Bat. Right underneath it is the Man With No Eyes."

"I'm not sure those are accurate," Nathan observed.

"See that one? It's the Panda Piñata. And there we have the Vortex. That one is called the Line of Stars."

"You're making these up."

"No, no, they're all true." Jamison laughed. "That one is called Fangboy. See how the stars look like fangs?"

"They do, actually."

"You have to be a pretty great person for the stars to shift around to form a constellation that resembles your face. They won't do that for me, I can tell you."

They laughed until tears ran down their face. Finally Nathan pulled the blanket of leaves over himself. "Would you like the last piece of cheese?" he offered. The cheese was stolen, but the dairy farmer had been so rude about their act of theft that they didn't feel guilty.

"No, it's yours. I know you've been saving it."

"But I've seen you eyeing it for the past couple of days, and I want you to have it, for being my friend."

"Thank you." Jamison gobbled down the small piece of cheese and smiled. "We'll steal more cheese tomorrow. Perhaps some cheddar or that white kind. And we'll get grapes to go with it. Nothing goes better with cheese than grapes, except for crackers. Though crackers might be difficult for you to eat with so few remaining teeth. We'll stick with the cheese and grapes."

"Goodnight, Jamison."

"Goodnight, Nathan."

* * *

As the sun rose over the hillside, Nathan opened his eyes, yawned, and decided that today was the day he would finally be reunited with Penny and Mary.

"Come on," he said, brushing the leaves off of Jamison. "It's too beautiful of a day to waste by sleeping all..."

Jamison was not asleep.

"No," Nathan whispered. "It can't be."

He gently shook his friend. Jamison's face had taken on a greenish tint, and he looked exactly the way Nathan might expect somebody to look if they'd eaten bad cheese.

"Please, no."

Nathan's entire body shook as he wept. He sobbed so violently that his last two teeth fell out. He didn't pick these up. Let them decay on the ground! Nobody would ever want them!

In fact, he tore off his necklace, snapping the string. He took the individual teeth and flung them away, one by one, throwing them as far as he possibly could. Why keep mementos of his existence? He brought nothing but misery to those who were kind to him.

He threw away the last tooth and wept some more.

He should have eaten that cheese himself!

"Oh, Jamison, I'm so, so very sorry. I wish you'd stayed behind and married Beverly. Then you wouldn't be dead. I'm so sorry."

Nathan knew what he had to do. He searched for a few minutes for one of the teeth he'd thrown away, and then scraped it across the ground. He would bury Jamison in a grave that he dug with his own accursed tooth. That was the only way to show his best friend the proper respect.

Digging a grave with a tooth, however sharp, is a very time consuming process, but Nathan didn't care. If it took him the rest of his life, he would dig this grave!

When the vultures arrived, he decided to cheat a bit.

* * *

"I'll miss you, dear friend," he said, as he set the last stone upon the grave. A marker read Jamison. A friend to all, but especially to me.

And then he resumed his journey, alone.

* * *

His gums were particularly sore one day and even bleeding a bit, and he realized that his new teeth were finally coming in. In fact, as he poked at the spot with his tongue, one of them had started to emerge.

He hurried to a pond and gazed closely at his reflection.

Normal!

His new tooth had a flat top!

It was a normal tooth!

If all of his new teeth followed this pattern, soon he'd look like everybody else!

He clapped his hands together with delight, and then he frowned.

He'd no longer be special!

He'd be just like everybody else!

He flicked himself on the side of the head to clear out that train of thought. The normal teeth were good.

He invented three new dances, right there on the spot, and then continued on his way.

* * *

Each day it seemed a new tooth emerged from his gums, and they were all normal. His mouth was so sore that even drinking through a straw caused pain, but it didn't take away from his happiness.

In every town, village, and city, he asked if anybody knew where Penny and Mary might live. He was sorrowful each time they said "No, sorry, I'm afraid we can't help you, best of luck in your search" but nobody screamed when they saw him. Nobody recoiled. Nobody even gasped.

Soon all of his teeth had grown in completely. He smiled all the time, even when he wasn't particularly happy.

And one day, he passed by a small brown house with a white picket fence that felt somehow right to him. Familiar. Like he'd been there before even though he'd never seen it.

Home.

He ran his hand through his hair, tried to wipe most of the dirt off his face, and then walked up onto the porch and rang the doorbell.

Penny did not answer.

Nor did Mary.

"May I help you?" asked the woman. "I won't be buying any newspapers or raffle tickets, if that's why you're here."

"No, it's nothing like that. Do you by any chance know a pair of sisters named Penny and Mary?"

"Nuns?"

"No, sisters as in blood relatives."

"I've never heard of them." The woman narrowed her eyes. "You look oddly familiar, even though I don't remember you from anywhere. Are you famous?"

"I was frozen for a while. It might have been on the news."

"That can't be it. I don't follow news of science. What's your name?"

"Nathan Pepper."

The woman put her hand to her mouth in shock. "Nathan Pepper?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Smile for me. As wide as you can."

Nathan gave her his widest smile.

"It's a miracle! They've been fixed!" She threw her arms around him and gave him a tight hug. "Nathan, I'm your grandmother!"

"My grandmother?"

Helena hugged him again, then took Nathan by the hand and led him into her living room. A man sat on the couch, reading a newspaper. "Martin! This is Nathan! And he's no longer a physical deviant!"

"Isn't he a bit young?"

"I was frozen," Nathan explained.

"It's a miracle!" Martin set his newspaper aside, got up off the couch, and gave Nathan a hug. "We could never have anticipated that you'd grow up to be such a fine young man!"

"It's hard to imagine that we told your mother and father to suffocate you," said Helena.

"You told them to...suffocate me?"

"Well, that or some other humane means of extermination. But you were a monster back then."

"I think I'm going to leave now," said Nathan.

TWENTY-FIVE

Would he ever find them?

Nathan started to think that he should stop trying. Was he wasting his life with this fruitless search? What if they weren't even happy to see him? What if they said "You're the obnoxious biting boy who sent us to the Poor House!" and formed a mob to chase after him with pitchforks and torches?

It was a risk he'd have to take. He couldn't stop searching. If nothing else, he had to tell them he was sorry for all of the misery he'd brought them.

He walked and walked.

Literally thousands of people would later report having spoken to a sad little boy, but none of them knew how to find the women he was searching for. Some were kind and offered to drive him around, or gave him food, and some even let him sleep in their backyards for the night, and he thanked them, yet he started to wonder if perhaps Penny and Mary were trying not to be found.

Nobody knows for sure how long Nathan traveled, or how many steps he took, but it was a very long time, and a great many steps. Sometimes he felt as if he were almost there, and other times he felt as if he were wandering in circles and wouldn't reach his destination until he was a powdery skeleton.

And then, one day, as he wandered into the town called Final Pass, things felt right.

He remained cautiously optimistic, because of course this feeling hadn't worked out for him the last time, but his heart raced and his pace quickened and he knew--he knew--that this was where the sisters lived.

A man dressed in rags stood on a street corner. Nathan hurried over to him. "Sir! Do you know if two ladies, one named Penny and one named Mary, live in this town?"

The man furrowed his brow and rubbed his chin. "They do, in fact. In a humble but well kept house at the far end of town, with a lovely garden from which I steal radishes."

Nathan forced himself not to get too excited. After all, he'd been fortunate enough not to have his hopes lifted and then crushed by finding women who shared the names of Penny and Mary but were not the Penny and Mary that he was looking for, and such a thing was bound to happen sooner or later. But the man in rags gave him directions, and Nathan ran the entire way.

There it was. A small house, with neatly mowed grass and a beautiful garden. A pie cooled on the window sill. Nathan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Apple. His favorite.

His stomach churned. What if it wasn't them?

It had to be.

He looked both ways to make sure nobody was watching, and then crept up to the window and peered inside.

It was the same bookcase!

Mary, eleven years older but still beautiful, walked into the room, holding a sandwich on a plate. She didn't see Nathan. He knew that he should duck. After being gone this long, he shouldn't have their reunion start with them catching him peeking through their window like a criminal, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.

As Mary sat down on the couch and took a bite from her sandwich, Penny came in and sat down next to her. It was them! They were both okay! They both looked happy!

Nathan knew that it was time to let them know he was right there, but what should he say? What words could best express his elation after reaching the end of such a long journey? He'd always imagined it with hugs and laughter and tears of joy, yet he'd never worked out exactly what he'd say.

Did anything need to be said? Maybe his smile, his smile without fangs, was enough.

Penny patted the couch cushion, and a little boy ran into the room and sat down next to her.

He looked slightly younger than Nathan. Black hair. Brown eyes. His resemblance to Penny was unmistakable.

No. It couldn't be.

And then a man walked into the room. He also had a sandwich. He sat down on a recliner, and the four of them began to eat their lunch, happily talking.

Nathan ducked.

He crouched beneath the window, trembling. It wasn't fair. He'd come all this way, searched this long, and the whole time Penny had a child of her own.

She didn't need Nathan.

He should have stayed in the orphanage. Stayed frozen in the block of ice. He brought nothing but tragedy to others. Jamison would still be alive if it weren't for him. He was better off just wandering into the woods and never coming out.

He stood back up and carefully peeked through the window.

They all looked happy.

Like a real family.

Even if they would take him back, Nathan couldn't return. They deserved to go on with their lives, not be stricken by whatever misery he would bring with him.

He stared longingly through the window for a few moments more, and then walked away.

* * *

Nathan did a lot of thinking as he walked out of the town of Final Pass.

Even if he couldn't be happy himself, maybe he could still make others happy. He'd gotten used to wandering from town to town, and didn't much feel like going back to school, so why not continue to do that, but do good deeds along the way? After all, even if he only spread a tiny bit of joy to each person he encountered, it would all add up.

And that, dear reader, is exactly what Nathan "Fangboy" Pepper did.

He started out performing small acts of kindness, such as giving a biscuit to a lost dog or sitting on the other end of a teeter-totter when a young child had nobody else to play with. He carried groceries out to the cars of elderly women. He closed mailboxes when the lids had accidentally come open.

Then he began to plant trees. He mowed lawns and asked nothing in return. He taught children to read. (Not much, because he had to be on his way, but each day he tried to teach a new child how to read five different words.)

He tried to do ten good deeds a day, and he was right, they did add up quickly! In a month with thirty-one days, he could do three hundred and ten good deeds!

People started to take notice, and the news spread.

"That's him!" the residents would often say when Nathan marched into town. "It's the boy who does all of the good deeds!"

And the funny thing was, knowing that Nathan was in town made other people want to do good deeds of their own. Sometimes there would be so many good deeds happening at once that it would be an almost bewildering sight. Even loathsome criminals, the kind who might stab you in an alley just to watch you bleed, found that they stabbed less frequently when Nathan was in town.

Years passed, and some people expressed concern that there might not be any good deeds left to do. But Nathan kept going, helping build new animal shelters, establish orphanages where none of the children were ever beaten, and even putting an art museum on the burnt ground where Professor Mongrel's Theatre of the Macabre once stood.

"We love you, Nathan!" people would shout. Some of them were pretty girls, and Nathan found that he enjoyed this attention best of all.

But on the day of his eighteenth birthday, he went back to visit Beverly. He'd decided that he would not make her honor her agreement, because doing so many good deeds had brought him so much joy that he didn't want to undo any of it by making her leave her husband, which upon reflection he'd decided would be a rather despicable act. But--good fortune indeed!--she had never married. She had been waiting for him all this time.

Hundreds of people for whom Nathan had done good deeds donated one coin each, which gave him enough money to buy Beverly a shiny engagement ring and a new house. But he didn't need the house, because they planned to continue walking the earth together, and so he bought her an even shinier ring.

As they shopped for a wedding cake, a boy of about seventeen came up and tugged on Nathan's sleeve. He looked apologetic as it tore away.

"Hello," he said, looking at the floor in a very shy manner. "My name is Gary. I'm sort of your brother, and I'm supposed to invite you to dinner."

Nathan had no idea how to respond. And before he could speak, he saw them: Penny and Mary, standing in the doorway to the wedding shop, beaming at him.

* * *

All of them, Nathan, Beverly, Penny, Penny's husband Adam, Mary, Mary's girlfriend Yvette, and Gary, went out and had a lovely dinner.

"For twenty-two years we wondered what happened to you," said Penny. "Why didn't you come back?"

And Nathan told them the whole story. And they all laughed at how silly he'd been, because though, yes, he'd brought some tragedy to people he'd come into contact with, he'd always been a good person who tried to do the right thing.

They complimented him often on his new teeth. Nathan joked about how someday he might buy a set of false fangs to wear, just for the sake of nostalgia.

They spoke well of poor Jamison, and had no cheese with their dinner in his honor.

They also spoke of Will, the boy whose arm Nathan had bitten. He had gone on to immense wealth and power as the chief operating executive of a large corporation, and one day when the auditors showed up for a surprise inspection of the books, he had excused himself to his private executive restroom and slashed his wrists. Everybody spoke of this incident in somber tones, and nobody seemed willing to come right out and say that this might have been a positive or even delightfully amusing moment, so they changed subjects.

The next day Nathan and Beverly were married, and though by now Nathan had a great many friends, the wedding was a simple affair. Afterward there was much music and dancing, and it must be said that even the guests who did not particularly like weddings had a grand time.

As Nathan sat at a table, resting from all of the dancing, Penny sat down next to him.

"I have two things to give you," she said. She handed him a small box. Nathan lifted the lid. "That is the first tooth you lost. I kept it in the secret drawer of my keepsake shelf all this time. I don't know if giving it to you is a touching gesture or a mildly disgusting one, but I thought you should have it."

"Thank you," said Nathan.

"And also this."

Nathan gazed at the piece of paper, which read Certificate of Adoption.

"This is dated twenty-two years ago!"

"Yes. I knew I'd made a mistake in not properly adopting you, and do you know the very first thing I bought with my first post-banishment pay? Even before my insulin? I bought this certificate, Nathan. I made you my son for real."

"I can't believe it!"

"Oh, how we searched for you. And when I met Adam, he helped me search for you as well. Not effectively, obviously, but we did search. And after Gary was born, we told him that he had a long-lost brother. He helped us search--again, not with the greatest of skill, but with true passion. Finally, we decided that we should build a house and wait for that special day when you found us, because we knew that you must be searching as desperately as we were. And you did. And then you left. So I'm very thankful to Beverly for getting in touch with us. That was sweet of her."

"I love you, Penny," said Nathan.

"And I love you, Nathan."

When it was time to leave, Nathan and Beverly bid everyone a tearful goodbye and promised to keep in touch at least once a week.

* * *

As you probably know quite well, Nathan and Beverly are still out there, bringing happiness every single day. Perhaps you were personally touched by their kindness, and perhaps it encouraged you to do a good deed as well.

On that note, the tale of Fangboy draws to a close. It is hoped that you found some valuable lessons contained within, as well as a moment of entertainment or two. Perhaps there will be other adventures in their future, in which case we promise that an expanded version of this text will be made available for your purchasing pleasure, or perhaps even a full sequel, should enough adventures stockpile to make such an endeavor worthwhile.

We thank you for your time, and hope you have a good night.

* * *

"I think we should do eleven good deeds today," says Nathan, as he and Beverly walk hand in hand toward the next town.

"Eleven? That's madness!"

"Or perhaps twelve!"

"We'll be exhausted!"

"Yes, I was only kidding. We wouldn't really do twelve. But I think we should do eleven. That would make four thousand and fifteen good deeds a year."

Beverly smiles. "Then we'd better get started."

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Tod Clark, Terri Garey, Michael McBride, Rick Moschgat, Rhonda Rettig, and Elizabeth White for their feedback, even the feedback that wasn't "You are AWESOME!!!"

And thanks to Zach McCain for the amazing cover, and Shane Ryan Staley for publishing the original version of this novel.

Remember: Readers who leave reviews deserve great big hugs!

Subscribe to Jeff Strand's free monthly newsletter (which includes a brand-new original short story in every issue) at

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Books By Jeff Strand

Bring Her Back. A tale of revenge and madness.

Sick House. A home invasion from beyond the grave.

How You Ruined My Life (Young Adult). Sixteen-year-old Rod has a pretty cool life until his cousin Blake moves in and slowly destroys everything he holds dear.

Everything Has Teeth. A third collection of short tales of horror and macabre comedy.

An Apocalypse of Our Own. Can the Friend Zone survive the end of the world?

Stranger Things Have Happened (Young Adult). Teenager Marcus Millian III is determined to be one of the greatest magicians who ever lived. Can he make a live shark disappear from a tank?

Cyclops Road. When newly widowed Evan Portin gives a woman named Harriett a ride out of town, she says she's on a cross-country journey to slay a Cyclops. Is she crazy, or...?

Blister. While on vacation, cartoonist Jason Tray meets the town legend, a hideously disfigured woman who lives in a shed.

The Greatest Zombie Movie Ever (Young Adult). Three best friends with more passion than talent try to make the ultimate zombie epic.

Kumquat. A road trip comedy about TV, hot dogs, death, and obscure fruit.

I Have a Bad Feeling About This (Young Adult). Geeky, non-athletic Henry Lambert is sent to survival camp, which is bad enough before the trio of murderous thugs show up.

Pressure. What if your best friend was a killer...and he wanted you to be just like him? Bram Stoker Award nominee for Best Novel.

Dweller. The lifetime story of a boy and his monster. Bram Stoker Award nominee for Best Novel.

A Bad Day For Voodoo. A young adult horror/comedy about why sticking pins in a voodoo doll of your history teacher isn't always the best idea. Bram Stoker Award nominee for Best Young Adult Novel.

Dead Clown Barbecue. A collection of demented stories about severed noses, ventriloquist dummies, giant-sized vampires, sibling stabbings, and lots of other messed-up stuff.

Dead Clown Barbecue Expansion Pack. A few more stories for those who couldn't get enough.

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Wolf Hunt 2. New wolf. Same George and Lou.

The Sinister Mr. Corpse. The feel-good zombie novel of the year.

Benjamin's Parasite. A rather disgusting action/horror/comedy about why getting infected with a ghastly parasite is unpleasant.

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Faint of Heart. To get her kidnapped husband back, Melody has to relive her husband's nightmarish weekend, step-by-step...and survive.

Mandibles. Giant killer ants wreaking havoc in the big city!

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Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary). First in the Andrew Mayhem series.

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Casket For Sale (Only Used Once). Third in the Andrew Mayhem series.

Lost Homicidal Maniac (Answers to "Shirley"). Fourth in the Andrew Mayhem series.

The Andrew Mayhem Collection. All four novels for one low price!

Suckers (with JA Konrath). Andrew Mayhem meets Harry McGlade. Which one will prove to be more incompetent?

Gleefully Macabre Tales. A collection of thirty-two demented tales. Bram Stoker Award nominee for Best Collection.

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The Haunted Forest Tour (with James A. Moore). The greatest theme park attraction in the world! Take a completely safe ride through an actual haunted forest! Just hope that your tram doesn't break down, because this forest is PACKED with monsters...

Draculas (with JA Konrath, Blake Crouch, and F. Paul Wilson). An outbreak of feral vampires in a secluded hospital. This one isn't much like Twilight.

For information on all of these books, visit Jeff Strand's more-or-less official website at http://www.jeffstrand.com