Frank
The husky boy crept out from behind the tree, an a look of tentative uncertainty on his face. It was a different one this time, wearing shorts and a golf shirt with parallel red bars on it. God, Frank had hated that shirt. It reminded him of the ones he had to wear as a kid, made him look so fat. But, he kept his mouth shut and offered a friendly gesture holding out the liquorish to the boy when he finally drew within reach. These exchanges always made him feel a little distressed. There was no one coming for this kid. Not now. Maybe not ever.
You can’t save them all, he reminded himself. Besides it was damn impossible to tell when a kid here was real, had been trapped, or was actually a trap himself, a mirror of a boy who had once been here. Maybe it was worse now, since Candace and Stevie were getting to be this age. You have to be afraid, he knew, at least a little bit. There are so many ways for them to disappear. And not just due of the everyday horrors of the real world they showed on the TV and the internet every day.
“You know who I’m looking for,” he said. “Just point the way.”
The boy looked up at him, then turned and pointed. Of course, he looked down the richly bordered pathway of chocolate and sugar. Temptation. Always temptation. Damned interstitials.
“Thanks,” he told the boy. Shit the boy had already gone through half the twizzlers while he’d been looking away.
“Easy kid,” he cautioned. “Don’t eat them all at once. Safe some for later. This could be the last real ones you’ll get for a long time.”
He handed the rest of the package to the boy, who promptly ran off into the underbrush without a word.
The sound of a distant gunshot echoed down the path of temptation. Frank glanced that way, startled. Then came the sounds of birds breaking from the brush. When he looked back, the only sign there’d ever been a boy in the clearing was the empty bag of red twizzlers lying on the ground.
Frank headed down the path, carefully avoiding the treats that began to appear long the way. He knew better.
Ahead, he could see a clearing, and then another balloon dived through his vision. God, the image drawn on it sent a shiver up his spine. Why did it always have to be balloons. Seriously, they could pop at any moment.
The only thing that could be worse was if it popped. And might if he ever touched one of the things. Shit! It was coming straight at him. Frank bent back, hard, almost into a tree as the nasty thing hovered close, almost circled around him, then slowly floated away.
He’d held his breath, then after a minute, let it out, slowly.
Another full minute passed before he’d mustered up the courage to continue on.
The next clearing became more solid as he approached, and shit, he should have expected it, but hell… he had to stop.
There it was, a grassy knoll, with a figure that looked like the lost lovechild of Chewbacca and Dr. Zaius standing on the crest, Remington Fireball .221 in his grip, pointed into the distance. Behind was a skyline, hazy in the distance, and traffic. The creature turned to look back at him. It was wearing a vintage baseball cap, Boston Braves logo scrawled across it.
Hey big guy.
“Sorry pal,” he told the tall furry biped. “Can’t hang around for the big event. Wouldn’t be good for me anyway. I’ve imagined this too often already.”
Bigfoot nodded, something like sage wisdom in his eyes, then turned back and cocked the carbine.
Frank turned away quickly and headed to the left down the path in the opposite direction.
He smiled, spotting in the distance a small figure with blonde hair and in a bright green skirt sitting in the shade of a weeping willow.
Yes, he breathed. First time lucky.
“Amy,” he called out. “Amy, I’ve come to take you back home!”
The figure turned and Franks sucked in a quick breath. Not, this was not the little girl. It wasn’t a girl at all. Damn, he’d brought in too much shit with him this time. He had to pray Benny and Nora would have better luck.
He was done.
