In the Land of the Lawn Weenies (5 page)

Read In the Land of the Lawn Weenies Online

Authors: David Lubar

BOOK: In the Land of the Lawn Weenies
10.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
 
 
R
yan checked his pocket to make sure he hadn't lost the money his mother had given him. It was still there. He hesitated at the door of the barbershop, wondering whether he could come up with any good excuse for skip-ping the whole unpleasant experience. Nothing came to mind. Best just to get it over with, he thought as he stepped inside. Life would be a lot easier if hair didn't grow so quickly. Ryan didn't like any part of going to the barbershop. He didn't like waiting for his turn, and he didn't like sitting in the chair, and he didn't like having his head moved and turned and twisted as Mr. Garafolo snipped at his hair.
“I'm here for my usual,” Ryan said.
Mr. Garafolo turned toward Ryan. But it wasn't Mr. Garafolo—it was a different man. He was
dressed the same, with the white shirt and black pants, and he held a pair of scissors in his hand, but he was not Mr. Garafolo. The barber rotated the empty chair toward Ryan. “Step right up.”
“Uh, where's Mr. Garafolo?” Ryan asked.
“Tony's unavailable,” the man said. “I'm his cousin, Vince Sweeny. Come on, you'll like the way I cut hair. You'll leave here with a big smile. You'll be grinning from ear to ear. I promise.”
Ryan noticed there were no other customers in the shop. He wondered if this barber had scared them off by giving someone a bad haircut. “Maybe I should come back later …”
“No, no. Come on. Tony would want it this way,” Mr. Sweeny said, pointing to the chair with his scissors. “Please.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. He noticed the way the hair clippings scattered in the breeze his feet made as they clomped on the old linoleum. It almost seemed as if the clippings were running from him.
Ryan climbed into the chair. The barber draped a large cloth over him and tied it around his neck. Ryan didn't know why barbers bothered with that sheet—the hairs always managed to sneak through and make him itch for hours after getting a cut.
“Now,” the barber said, “how would you like it? Short? Medium? Are you one of those kids with the short top and long sides? You tell me.”
“Short is good,” Ryan said. He looked down at the cloth. There was a stain. It was dark red, almost brown. He stared at the splotch, wondering if it was blood.
Suddenly, hands grabbed his head and bent it back.
“Ah, that's better,” the barber said. “Keep your head nice and straight. You don't want to wiggle around.”
“Sorry,” Ryan said.
The barber started snipping away at Ryan's head. Bits of hair went flying. Bits of hair, somehow, got through the collar. The barber pushed Ryan's head forward. Ryan raised his eyes and looked into the mirror. There was a door at the back of the shop, leading to a storage room. In the reflection of the rear wall, a foot stuck out on the floor by the door.
A foot?
Ryan started to turn his head.
“Sit still,” the barber said, clamping his hands on Ryan's head and twisting it away from the mirror. “Keep still. I wouldn't want to cut you.” The hand held hard and firm for a moment, then let go. “That's a good boy.”
Ryan swallowed, trying not to move his head at all.
Who was this man?
Ryan realized he didn't know anything about the person who was standing behind him with the sharp, pointed scissors. He didn't even know for sure if the man was Mr. Garafolo's cousin, or if he was a real barber. He glanced at the cash register. The drawer was half open.
Maybe the man wasn't a barber at all.
Shifting his eyes far to the right, Ryan could just see the image in the mirror. For sure, it was a foot—there was a black shoe and the edge of a
black pants cuff, like the black pants the barber wore. Like the black pants Mr. Garafolo wore.
The scissors moved close to his ear, making tiny snips. “Where did you say Mr. Garafolo was?” Ryan asked.
Snip!
Ryan jumped as the scissors took off a large hunk of hair right next to his ear.
“Easy, don't jump. You want to lose your ear?” The barber put his hand on Ryan's head again. He kept snipping, but he didn't answer Ryan's question.
Ryan clenched his fists under the sheet and closed his eyes.
“Relax,” the barber said. “You'll be finished soon.”
Ryan took a deep breath. It didn't help. There was no way he could relax, not with a body in the back room and this cold-blooded killer standing behind him.
“Just another snip, then a little touch-up with the razor,” the barber said.
Razor?
Ryan grabbed the arms of the chair and opened his eyes.
He flinched as the barber slapped shaving cream on the back of his neck. It felt warm and wet. Ryan could almost imagine that it was blood. He looked down at the splotch on the sheet again. There was a scritch-scratch sound as the barber sharpened the razor on the strop hanging from the chair.
From the corner of his eye, Ryan caught sight of motion in the mirror. The foot was twitching—he
was sure of it. Then, from the room, he heard a scream, “Eeeeooowwwwerrr!”
Ryan ripped the sheet from his neck, jumped from the chair, and spun to face the barber.
“Hey, careful!” The barber threw his hand up, the razor gleaming as bits of lather flew into the air. “This thing is sharp. It could take your head right off.”
Ryan tried to run but his feet tangled in the sheet. He hit the ground. There was another awful scream from the next room, “Eeeeoooowwwaaggghhh.”
Lying on his side, tangled in the sheet, Ryan saw the foot move. It pulled back into the room. Ryan looked up. Mr. Garafolo stumbled out from the back room. Ryan expected to see him grab his throat and fall to the floor. But the barber was just stretching and yawning, making a sound like “Eeeeoooowwarrgleee.”
Mr. Garafolo glanced at the empty chair. Then he stared at the floor. “Ryan. What's the matter? You don't like the way Vince cuts hair?”
“Uh …” Ryan untangled himself from the sheet, stood up, and plopped into the chair. “He does a great job.”
“You're a nice boy, Ryan,” Mr. Garafolo said, “but you are a little jumpy. Try to relax. You'll live longer.” He turned to Vince and said, “Thanks for letting me take a nap. The doctor was right—my back feels a lot better when I sleep on a hard floor. You can go now. I'll finish Ryan.”
Finish me?
Ryan thought. He started to leap from the chair again.
“Calm down,” Mr. Garafolo said, clamping a
hand on Ryan's shoulder. “This is supposed to be a pleasure.”
Ryan tried not to flinch as the razor scraped across the back of his neck.
“Okay,” Mr. Garafolo said a minute later. “All done.”
Ryan paid Mr. Garafolo and walked out of the shop. “Come back soon,” he heard Mr. Garafolo call as the door closed behind him.
Ryan took a deep breath. It felt great to be standing in the bright sun and fresh air.
What a perfect day, Ryan thought as he walked down the street. It would be a perfect and wonderful and stunningly great day, except for one small thing. Now that he was done with the barber, it was time for his appointment at the dentist. Running his hand through his hair and gritting his teeth, Ryan headed across town.
 
 
K
ay plopped down on the bench at the edge of the playground and set Tommy loose. “Go play,” she said as she took a can of soda out of her backpack. “Have fun. Don't get hurt.” She watched him scurry off to the monkey bars. All around, she saw little kids having mindless fun, running and laughing and squealing like upright pigs.
“Unbelievable,” Kay said to herself.
She had dragged Tommy all around town, then just picked a direction and started walking, hoping he would be exhausted enough to sleep most of the afternoon once she got him back to his house. If he slept, she'd be free to hang out and watch TV.
But she couldn't take him home for another hour. His mother had explained that she needed her
personal
time
each morning. Kay had to keep Tommy out of the house until noon. It was part of her job.
Kay hated playgrounds, but she got paid the same cheap baby-sitting rate whether she read to the little creature or played with him or just set him loose to romp and frolic. She saw no point working herself ragged for a couple of dollars an hour.
Kay tried to remember if she'd visited this playground before. She'd been watching Tommy almost every day for these first three weeks of summer, and she'd dragged the sticky little nose-picker to a lot of places. They'd all looked pretty much the same. This one was a bit shabbier than some. But it wasn't like any of the equipment was actually dangerous. It wouldn't do to bring the little bug home with broken parts. Kay suspected Mrs. Walton wouldn't pay her if her precious Tommy snapped an arm or a leg or cut his forehead open on a rusty piece of jagged metal.
There didn't seem to be any danger of that at the moment. The monkey bars looked safe enough to Kay. The little cockroach wasn't so high up that a fall would fracture anything important. Kay settled back on the bench and glanced around. Usually there were other sitters to talk to. Not today.
Next to the bench, Kay saw a garbage barrel, and next to that another large barrel for aluminum cans. A sign on the second barrel read: PLEASE RECYCLE. Kay sipped the last drops of her soda, then tossed the can toward the barrels. It hit the rim of one, then bounced to the ground. Kay laughed. It didn't matter if she missed—someone would pick it up. That was the nice thing about
recycling, as far as Kay was concerned—there was always someone willing to step in and do the job.
No matter how unpleasant a job, there was always someone who would do it … for a price. Kay knew she was living proof of that theory. But there were lots of worse things in life than watching a slimy little grub run around. And it wasn't like she'd be doing it the rest of her life.
Kay looked at the piece of equipment nearest her bench. It was one of those tube slides—a big, slanted plastic tube with a ladder at one end. The middle of the tube was held up from the ground on another short tube. A little kid was just springing out the bottom. Kay watched him slide to the ground and land on his feet. His untied sneakers hit the dirt with a
plock.
He bent his knees, taking the jolt like an expert, and ran off. A moment later, a second kid came out.
Plock.
Kay glanced at the top—there were no other kids waiting to enter the slide.
For a moment, Kay thought about going through the slide herself. It almost looked like fun. But she was too old for that. And what if one of her friends saw her? She'd never live it down.
“Kay! Watch me!” Tommy screamed from the monkey bars. He was hanging from a bar at one corner, swinging his body and kicking his legs. Kay turned her head his way for a moment. She didn't even bother trying to appear interested. The little worm seemed satisfied just to have her eyes aimed in his direction.
Plock.
Another kid had just come out of the
tube slide. Like the first two, he hit the ground with both feet and went running off.
Kay hadn't noticed him at the top of the ladder. She realized the kid must have climbed in when she'd looked toward Tommy. For all the noise they usually made, there were times when little kids could move as silently as spiders.
“Push me, Kay!” Tommy called as he ran from the monkey bars to the swings. “Push me! Push me! Push me! Push me!”
“They don't pay me enough for this,” Kay muttered as she trudged over to him. She noticed that there were a lot of kids in the playground. They all looked the same, except for Tommy, who was a stupid little four-year-old dressed in jeans and a red shirt. The rest of them were mostly stupid little four-year-olds dressed in jeans and blue shirts.
Kay gave Tommy a push, resisting the urge to shove the ridiculous creature right off the swing, then went back to the bench. As she sat, another kid came out of the slide. He hit—
plock
—stood for a second as if figuring out where he was, then went running off to the seesaws.
Kay could have sworn she hadn't seen anyone go in the top. She got up and walked to the slide, then bent to look inside the bottom of the tube. An odd smell drifted out, moist and old, like the scent of earth beneath a rock. Kay could barely make out a dark place where the slide rested on the support tube. It almost looked like a hole, but she knew that couldn't be right. If there were a hole in the middle, the kids would fall in.
Unless …
Kay had a glimmer of an idea, but it was too strange. She let it go and went back to the bench. Tommy came running over. “Play seesaw with me,” he demanded.
Kay shook her head. The last thing she wanted was a seat full of splinters. “Why don't you make some friends?” she suggested.
“They don't like me,” Tommy said.
Now there's a surprise, Kay thought. But all she said was, “Go back to the swings. Practice pumping. I'll be right here.”
Tommy ran off. Kay watched as he wove his way around the other kids, keeping as much distance from each of them as possible. It reminded her of a video game.
A moment later, another kid came sliding out of the end of the tube.
Plock.
The place was crawling with kids. Kay was sure it was more crowded now. There were kids piled on the seesaws and the swings and all over the climbing equipment. There were kids running around chasing each other in a nonstop game of tag. But there weren't any parents or sitters in sight. Kay glanced at the parking lot next to the playground. It was empty. She thought about leaving. Tommy would pitch a fit. But he'd do that whether they left now, or in ten minutes, or in ten hours.
Kay checked her watch. It was only a few minutes after eleven. She figured she'd wait another half hour, then drag Tommy home. With luck, he'd be tired by then.
As Kay sat and waited for time to pass, she noticed something odd. There weren't any girls in
the playground. Kay looked around to make sure she wasn't mistaken. As she did, another little kid popped out from the end of the tube slide. It was a boy. He looked just like all the others.
It was almost as if—No, she dropped that thought. It was too ridiculous.
“Don't be silly,” she whispered. Kay shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Maybe it was time to leave.
Another kid came out of the slide.
Maybe it was time to leave
right now.
Yes. Time to get Tommy and head home, Kay thought. It was definitely time to get out.
Plock.
Two more feet hit the dirt in front of the slide.
Kay jumped up from the bench. The playground was swarming with kids. They were everywhere. Everywhere except the top of the slide, Kay realized. She was certain she hadn't seen a single one of those kids go in the top.
They all just slid out the bottom.
It was almost like … She took a deep breath, not wanting to think about that image but unable to keep her mind from turning down that dark corner—
almost like insects.
Kay shivered as she remembered a film she'd seen in science class. In a disgustingly large close-up shot, a swollen termite queen was popping out one egg after another. Smooth, slimy, white eggs squeezed out.
Plock.
Thousands of them.
Plock, plock, plock.
Kay couldn't wipe the image from her mind. She knew what was happening. Instead of eggs, the tube was plocking
out snotty little kids, creating thousands of workers to serve its needs.
“That's crazy,” Kay said.
She started to move away from the bench.
“Kay, look at me!” Tommy shouted from high up on the swings.
Kay hesitated. She wanted to run from the playground, but there'd be big trouble if she left Tommy. She stepped toward him.
Kids swarmed forward and blocked her way. Another kid slid from the slide.
Plock—his
feet hit the dirt. The mob moved closer. They were all around her. Except for the swing that held Tommy, the equipment was empty. They'd all left the swings and seesaws and monkey bars to gather around her. Kay could feel them pushing in from the sides and from behind.
Insects, Kay thought as she stared into the empty faces of little kids closing in around her. They pressed closer. They all looked the same, and none of them looked quite right. This close, Kay saw that their arms were a bit too long, their heads a bit too small. The skin of their fingers as they grasped at her was slippery and wet.
Plock.
Another kid came from the slide.
Plock. Plock.
Two more.
Kay was sure, now.
They surged against her. They shoved. They herded. They lifted her. Kay grabbed the bench, struggling to keep her feet on the ground. They pried her fingers loose and raised her over their heads. Dozens of hands held her up in the air.
“No!” Kay screamed.
They carried her toward the slide.
“Not there!” Kay tried to twist from their grip. “Please, not there …”
None of the kids spoke. But all together, they produced a droning buzz that filled her ears.
Across the playground, Tommy was still swinging, trying to pump himself higher.
Little rat,
Kay thought.
No,
she realized. He wasn't a rat. He was an insect. They were all insects.
They hauled her toward the top of the slide. Behind her, more were born.
Plock. Plock. Plock.
They lifted her higher, crawling on top of each other to form a mound. The droning buzz grew louder and louder until it filled her head and made her body vibrate. The tube swallowed the sunlight as Kay slid in. She clutched at the edge for an instant, but a dozen tiny hands pushed her deeper.
Kay lost her grip. She slid. Halfway down, she fell into a hole. For an instant, Kay remembered the high dive, and the stomach-lurching feeling of plummeting toward the water.
Kay dropped.
Her fall ended far too soon. She hit something large and soft and moist, like a giant, living wound. Kay sank. Ankles, knees, then thighs slipped into the goo. It was a huge insect, Kay realized, living in darkness, too swollen to move, buried in a hive beneath the playground, producing countless insect children. Here it waited, fat and slow and blind.
Beneath her, in a voice that came right into her
mind, she heard a huge and old and terribly strange life-form speak.
“Oh, good,”
it said.
“You are here. Good. Thank you, my children.”
Kay sank deeper into the moist mass of flesh. All around, she could feel the little ones emerging, scrambling out and climbing toward the tube that led to the middle of the slide.
Kay's last thought almost made her laugh. This creature was about to absorb her, using her to create more of its own kind. She realized she was about to be recycled.
Somewhere outside and above, the buzz of the children drowned out any sounds Kay made.

Other books

Falling Sideways by Kennedy Thomas E.
What's a Boy to Do by Diane Adams
It Was the Nightingale by Henry Williamson
Amy Snow by Tracy Rees