The New Kid (11 page)

Closing the secret compartment, Edward brought the book out and set it down on his workbench. Will’s eyes were filled with wonder as his father opened the thick, age-old volume. The pages were made of what he later learned was cabretta leather and the front cover was made of marble and embedded with emeralds. The back cover and an indeterminate number of pages were missing.

“Inside this book,” said Will’s father, “are things you will need to know if you are to survive.”

Will wished that his father had not used the word “if” and his young heart thudded in his chest as he awaited further instructions. Gazing down he saw that the pages were covered with ancient symbols. Though Will had learned to read at a very young age and read at a tenth grade level already, he had no clue what any of these symbols were. How could a book he couldn’t even read ever help him? His father had anticipated Will’s confusion and immediately addressed it.

“You will have to learn to decipher the code. Don’t be concerned with this now, Will, you’re not to open this book until one minute past midnight on your thirteenth birthday, do you understand?”

Will nodded, even though he had dozens of questions swirling around in his head. But there would be no time for questions. Will shivered, for the room had gone suddenly cold. There was a crack of thunder and it sounded as though the heavens had split open. Will thought the sky must surely be falling! The basement windows blasted open and the door to the upstairs flew off its hinges. The basement filled with swirling snakes of smoke as the whole house shook on its foundation. Edward hefted the book and, placing it into Will’s hands, shoved him under the workbench.

“Take care of your mother, Will! Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dad, but—”

“Stay silent! And close your eyes! Do NOT watch this!”

Will tried to do as he was told, grasping the book and ducking under the workbench as the room continued to fill with smoke and debris. There was a horrifying clicking, screeching, clattering sound. A swarm of cicadas appeared. And what Will saw next caused his young mind to twist inward and fold up upon itself. He was so terrified he could only watch with one eye barely open. Still, through his eye slit he witnessed the unthinkable. The cicadas melded together and out of their mass formed a humanoid creature! It had a spiny coat, a massive head topped with goat-like horns, and eyes of putrid saffron. The creature opened its mouth and out came a blast of wilting hot air, thick with malice and hatred, air that stank of acrid chemicals, the rotting of all things good. The creature was surely speaking, but the tone and pitch were so unearthly that young Will could not make out words. He only knew that the monster was demanding something of his father and his father was refusing to cooperate.

The noise was deafening and Will held the book between his knees and covered his ears. But he could not for the life of him close his eyes. So he kept one eye open and because of the roaring in his ears what he witnessed was a pantomime. His father drew the futuristic weapon and fired—but the creature moved swiftly out of the way of the blast and was on the other side of the basement in a manner that no human being could ever accomplish! Though he fought valiantly, Will’s father appeared to be no match for this inhumanly fast creature, who quickly overpowered him, pressed his slimy forehead to Edward’s own, and spoke again in its frightening tongue, demanding answers that did not come.

In a rage the monster ripped off the big old oak door to the secret room and with its clawed hands tossed the contents, all the while roaring. Will thought he saw the monster breathe fire. As seconds
passed like lifetimes the creature’s fury reached an apex, apparently not finding what it was looking for. It grabbed Edward and lifted him, and shook him as a lion would shake its prey to break its neck. As his father’s body went slack Will couldn’t control himself. He began to emerge from his hidey hole, his mouth opening into a scream.

But the scream never came because as the creature fled with Will’s father slumped over its shoulder the basement was suddenly engulfed in flames. Will was certain he was trapped and doomed to burn to death. Then he saw it. The crystal key. His father had dropped it on the floor. On purpose? That didn’t matter now as Will’s trembling fingers groped for the key. He was so nervous he kept dropping it and could barely slip it into the lock on the front of the secret compartment. Fire licked at his heels as he turned the key. Then the door opened! He collapsed inside, pulled the book in after him, and closed the door, taking refuge in the tiny cabinet while the fire raged. His ears were ringing and his throat was sore and his head throbbed.

Safe for the moment, he started to cry thinking of what had just happened to his father, the person he loved more than anything else on earth, and prayed that this wasn’t real, that it was all just a bad dream, a horrific nightmare from which he’d soon awaken. But he knew it was real. And that realization crept through him like a virus. His stomach churned and he sweat buckets. Finally, he fell into unconsciousness. An indeterminate amount of time later Will opened his eyes. The ringing in his ears had stopped and he heard the blessed sound of near-silence. He peeked at the crack under the secret cabinet door, no longer a slit of burning orange, now just dark.

Will opened the door gingerly and as he crawled out he saw that the basement had flooded, the overhead sprinklers his father had installed still showering the entire area with water. He called out, his voice weak with his utter lack of hope.

“Dad? Daddy?”

He was met with stone cold silence; the house was empty. Will sat for the next twenty-four hours, until his mother returned, rocking and holding the book and praying for a miracle. A simple miracle, really:
Just bring my father back to me
, prayed Will. But even though he was only eight years old he knew this one incontrovertible fact: If he was ever to see his father again he would have to bring him back himself. Hell had come to get Will’s father, and Will might very well have to go to Hell to get him back.

When his mother returned and the dust from the incident settled, it was decided by those parties concerned—Will’s mother, the child psychologists, the minister, teachers, and other relatives—that Will’s version of what had transpired the night of the storm and subsequent fire was not, in fact, an accurate account of a young boy’s father being abducted by a demon, but rather an emotional defense mechanism, a tall tale conjured up by a boy in terrible pain. They all believed that Will had made the story up to deal with the supposed “fact” that his father had left him and his mother, most likely to run off with a woman. They also believed that it was Will, and not some rampaging demon, who had set the house on fire, a young boy abandoned by his father acting out his pain. After a while Will stopped trying to convince them that he was telling the truth and retreated. He went about his business like any other kid, going to school and doing his homework, watching TV and hanging out with his friends. But he did all these things in order to appear normal, in order to bide the time necessary. Inside he was waiting—for one minute past midnight on his thirteenth birthday.

Will knew he was different; the demon had left a mark on him in more ways than one. There was a hole in his heart where his father had once been, but there was also the matter of his eyes, which were now two different colors. While one of his eyes was the same normal blue it had always been, the other one, the one he’d witnessed the abduction with, had faded into a lighter crystal blue with gold
specks. He wondered if he looked like a freak or some kind of pubescent god-like warrior. He chose the latter.

Halloween, long Will’s favorite holiday, was a day of the year he now shunned. He had once loved to make himself appear ghoulish, to wear colored contact lenses and scar tattoos and bite down on fake blood capsules to scare his mom and dad silly. But no more. Now that he knew there were actual ghouls and demons roaming the earth he’d lost his taste for pretending.

Mostly, Will kept his eyes and his ears open. He watched over his mother, like his father had asked, as she endured the loss of her husband. It was not a pretty sight. Before, April had been gregarious and loved to paint and play the piano and sing. After, April changed dramatically. She suffered from depression and was often times wan and withdrawn. She still painted occasionally, but her paintings, which had been bright and cheery renditions of colorful birds in flight, now featured barren landscapes and, while beautifully crafted, were infused with grief. Time passed. And Will grew. He was determined to save them: his father
and
his mother.

For the next seven years young Will worked hard at his studies, learning absolutely everything there was to know about demons, spirits, goblins, ogres, warlocks, and other creatures of the dark side. He was drawn to the subject matter like no other kid before him; he was obsessed. It was his life. He knew what he’d seen was real, even if most of the descriptions and depictions of demons throughout human history were wildly inconsistent and frequently absurd.

As he grew mentally he also grew physically and by the time he was ten years old he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was physically gifted; he was a boy like no other, a specimen so superior to his peers that he dared not partake in athletic competitions lest he bring the world’s curiosity down upon him. He didn’t dare allow himself to be found out, instead lying in wait, getting stronger and faster each day, developing reflexes more akin to feral creatures than young boys. He was proud of his new body, proud
that he could jump higher and run faster than any of his classmates—so fast sometimes he scared himself. It was as if he could bend time itself, slowing it down as he ran past it. He was so strong and so fast he knew he could kick the crap out of guys twice his age. He longed to show off, to tell a friend his secret. But that was a luxury he could ill afford. Though at times he gained strength from his solitude, in his heart he was lonely. In his mind he would howl at the moon, calling out to his father
. I will find you. If it takes the rest of my life, I will find you.

He trained himself, running and lifting weights. With each stride, each breath, each strain of a muscle, he thought of his father, thought of how much he loved him, how much he missed him, how much he wanted him back. And he
would
get him back. That much he knew for sure. He hated the creature that had kidnapped his father with every fiber of his being and he dreamt of a hundred ways to slaughter him.

As he trained and did pushups and worked on his upper body strength he knew he was gifted for a reason. The heavens had endowed him with these abilities for a reason, and that reason was to be ready when it came time to rescue his father. He studied karate and Tae Kwon Do and Kung Fu and taught himself every offensive and defensive technique in the disciplines, always in private, away from prying adult eyes.

Only one time did he slip up and allow others to see his powers, when he was eleven years old. It was a foggy night and he’d been in a funk because his mother had started dating this creepy new guy she’d met on the Internet. So he was carrying some anger to begin with. He felt like he might explode if he didn’t get out and do something, and lately he had been feeling compelled to test himself anyway. So he ventured down to the rough part of the city, past the mattress factory and junkyards, past the boarded-up old slaughter house. He explored the rows of seedy bars and kept on walking until he found himself surrounded by a trio of vagrants who had nothing
but malice on their minds as they corralled him, greedily eyeing the expensive watch and jewelry he’d purposefully worn and the digital camera he’d brought along. He was bait and he knew it, and his heart raced in his chest as he flexed his muscles.

When the three of them made their move young Will sprang into action. Though it seemed to him the world was suddenly in slow motion, his transformation was actually quite rapid. He felt as though his skin grew tougher, like he had some kind of hide instead of the regular human epidermis. His vision became astonishingly clear, as though he was seeing everything in HD while the real world was in analog. And he was fast. His speed was just out of this world and he felt hot, like his blood was suddenly boiling, coursing through his pumped-up veins.

Using a series of powerful kicks and chops Will laid the three grown men out flat in a matter of seconds. Afterward, as the heat in his body faded, he was terrified that he’d killed them and quickly felt for pulses on all three. They were alive but when they regained consciousness they’d remember this night for the rest of their lives. Maybe they’d even stop drinking, convinced they’d hallucinated the little kid who’d transformed into a whirling dervish before their very eyes and kicked their asses from sin to Sunday. Will left them the watch, camera, and jewelry, went home, and locked himself in his room.

He cried for two solid hours, wondering how he could possibly have enjoyed inflicting pain on another human being. He tried to deny the pleasure he felt while hurting the men, telling himself that they probably were due such a beating, that they’d most likely done horrible things to people anyway and were owed. But he felt shame. He was terrified of how exhilarated he felt while in the heat of battle and he feared the red curtain that fell over his mind when he was in the fighting mode. When he stopped crying he vowed never again to test his newfound strength and hand to hand combat skills on hapless human beings, only on creatures that deserved it. And he
knew that waiting for him somewhere was a creature that deserved it very much.

 

The day before Will’s thirteenth birthday was a normal day like any other, at least as normal a day for a young man like him could be. Although nervous in anticipation of the events he suspected would unfold early that next morning, he played it cool, only venturing down to the basement five or six times to stare at the small cabinet door he would open at precisely one minute after midnight. He played a couple games of Scrabble with his mother, letting her win as always. Then she quaintly tucked him in at 10:30 and told him how proud she was that he’d grown so strong and smart and how much she loved him. She’d repeated these words so many times over the years that he knew they came from deep within her heart.