part0007

Sitting on the cold, hardwood floor of his bedroom, Brian could feel small specks of dirt beneath him. Ramming his already ragged toy cars into one another, he knocked the tiny wheel right off the blue and white Chevy. But this time, it was all right. His mom had noticed her son’s worn matchbox cars, and promised to bring home something new that night. It was also the Friday before Easter, which meant his mother would walk in the front door with bags full of groceries.

This Easter, the plan was to visit Brian’s grandmother, and a few other relatives. Grandma Margret’s was the gathering place for the holidays. Brian smiled at the thought of getting that big hug from his grandma, playing with his cousins, and eating potato pie until his stomach couldn't fit anymore.

Pete never went to the holiday gatherings. And Brian liked that just fine. Because the trip to grandma’s was more than a two-hour drive, he and his mom would spend the night, sleep in his mother’s old room and cuddle up together. His mother would tell him about the dreams she had in her childhood room, and sometimes, Brian would catch her wiping away a tear .

He knew those dreams didn't have a man like Pete in them. Brian thought about his real dad, the little he could remember. “What was he like?” Brian often asked his mom.

She’d smile. “Kind, funny, gentle.”

“Not like Pete,” Brian would reply.

Angela didn't respond.

Folding his hands into the sleeves of his sweater, Brian checked the thermostat. It read sixty-nine degrees. Pete must have turned down the heat, again.

“Turn that goddamn heat down; we don't need a sky-high electric bill this month,” he’d often say. Although it was April, there were still patches of snow on the ground, and the chill from the outside seemed to settle into Brian’s home.

The night Pete beat Angela with a rolling pin, she ran outside crying and screaming, and old Mr. Eldridge called the police. They handcuffed him, pushed him into the backseat of the car and Pete spent a month in jail.

It was a great month. Angela allowed Brian to watch his favorite anime shows, and she watched the cooking channel. Not those reality police shows Pete liked to watch. Angela invited Mr. Eldridge over for dinner a few times; something she couldn't do when Pete was around. Laughter visited the house once again, and Brian wished it could always be that way .

When Pete got out of jail, he promised Angela he’d be better; he wouldn't drink as much, and he’d try to get a better job. “You know I don't mean the things I do, Angie,” he cried, his head in Angela’s lap. “I don’t mean it,” he kissed her hand. “I’ll never touch you again, baby.”

He sniffed a few times, though Brian didn't see any tears. Then Pete sat up straight and called Brian over. Brian shuffled over, hesitantly.

“You take good care your momma while I was gone?” Pete asked him. Brian nodded.

“Yeah, you’re almost eleven years old. I was working on my daddy’s farm by the time I was twelve.” Pete rubbed Brian’s head and then pushed him away.

Pete had never hit him. Angela swore she’d leave if he did. But, there were always those threats Pete had made to Brian when they were alone together. Threats that Brian shared with his friend, old Mr. Eldridge.

“Just stay out of his way, kiddo; just stay clear. You know I’m here if you need me,” Mr. Eldridge told Brian.

Mr. Eldridge had his leg shattered in the Vietnam war. He walked with a limp and needed the assistance of a cane. He frequently wore his old Vietnam uniform, or battered teeshirts and fatigues. His beard was scruffy and wore his grey hair back in a ponytail. He had little, even less than Brian, but his heart was large .

When the arguing between Pete and Angela became too much for Brian, he’d go over to see Mr. Eldridge, who left his back door open. “This is your home too, son.”

They’d play chess until the arguing would stop. Sometimes Mr. Eldridge would share stories, secret stories that Brian could hardly believe. But old Mr. Eldridge swore they were true.

Brian’s Batman clock read 6:35 p.m.. His mom would be home soon. The smell of cigarette smoke began to travel to his room. Pete.

Brian covered his nose and mouth with his teeshirt, and walked slowly downstairs. Pete sat on the plaid La-Z-Boy recliner, his thin face seemed to glow, hauntingly, from the television screen.

Brian coughed, “Mom says you’re not suppose to smoke in the house, ‘cause of my asthma.”

Pete turned his face toward Brian, his eyes narrow, his mouth working the cigarette in between his teeth. He stood, walked toward Brian. Brian found it hard to catch his breath, more because of fear than the toxic nicotine. Pete kneeled in front of him, took a long pull from his cigarette, and blew smoke in Brian’s face. Brain began coughing harder, the air in his lungs getting tighter.

Pete grabbed Brian by the back of his neck, catching a few strands of his hair in between his fingers, held it tight, “If you tell your mom, I swear I’ll cut out your tongue, throw it in the bottom of the lake, and let the fish eat it. You understand me, boy? Asthma will be the least of your problems when I'm through. ”

Jerking away, Brian ran up to his room, grabbed his inhaler from his dresser drawer, and inhaled deeply. Then he opened his bedroom window, and breathed in the fresh air.

Mr. Eldridge stood on his back porch, leaning on his cane. His eyes focused on his young friend in the upstairs window,

“You all right there, Brian?” his voice a thick whisper.

Brian nodded his head slowly.

Mr. Eldridge looked to his right, and smiled, “You’re mom’s home.” Then he gave Brian a weary wave, and walked back inside his house.

Brian ran downstairs to catch Pete spraying air freshener around the living room. He gave Brian a sideways glance. Angela carried in two large grocery bags, “You boys wanna help me with these?” she sounded winded.

“Sure, baby.” Pete grabbed both bags, kissing Angela on the cheek.

“And, how’s my best little man?” Angela held out her arms. Brian wrapped his arms around his mothers waist. “I missed you, mom.” Angela held her son’s face, observing him closely, “You sound phlegmy. You been wheezing?”

From the corner of his eye, Brian glanced quickly at Pete, who was staring at him.

“I’m OK, mom. Just running around outside. ”

“Hmmm, well, be careful. You know this weather is tricky. It’s still a bit cold out there.” Angela walked over to the thermostat. “And speaking of cold, why is it only sixty-nine degrees in here, Pete?”

“Ah, hell Angie, it’s not that cold. The bill last month was a hundred and ten; that’s a lot of goddamn money.” Pete watched Angela turn up the heat and rolled his eyes.

“If Brian gets a cold, it triggers his asthma, I told you that.” Angela turned towards Brian, “There’s another bag in the truck for you; go get it, sweetie.”

Brian rushed out the door and outside, coughing still, excitement filling his irritated lungs. He opened the door of the pickup. There in the front seat there was a large, red plastic bag.

Brian pulled out the package, wide-eyed. Licking his dry lips, he lifted out the cardboard box inside: Three Hot Wheels Monster Jam Trucks.

Brian ran back inside the house to find Pete and his mom kissing.

“Thanks mom, these are awesome!”

Brian’s face felt hot as he saw Pete’s expression change. His eyes tightening together, his jaw working from side to side. He released Angela, and snatched the cardboard box with the Monster Trucks still inside, from Brian’s hands.

Pete turned to Angela, “I can barely afford to keep the heat on, and you’re buying him more goddamn toys? ”

Brian swallowed hard, the taste of thick phlegm caught in the back of his throat. His stomach began to feel nervous, the way it always did when his mom and Pete fought.

Angela grabbed the box from Pete’s hands, “Here sweetie, put your coat on and go play outside for a bit.”

Brian observed his mother’s eyes; he knew that look. The look of sadness and anger. She took a lot from Pete, but not when it came to Brian. He was the cause of many of their arguments, and Brian felt guilty, helpless. He wasn't big enough to stop Pete from hitting his mom, he wasn't big enough to throw him out.

“Go on, honey.” Angela said, with a fatigued smile.

Brian walked to the hall closet, retrieved his tattered wool coat, and watched Pete walk into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and got a beer. Angela shook her head, her face red, her lips pursed together.

Once the drinking started, things got worse, much worse.

Just before he stepped outside Brian could hear Pete say, “You keep spoiling that boy, Angie, and he’s gonna grow up to be a pussy.”

Brian shut the door, and heard his mom say, “Not as big of one as you.”

There were shouts, and Brian could hear furniture moving. He sat on the porch, looking at his new trucks, still encased in the box, no longer having the urge to open it .

He walked to Mr. Eldridge’s back porch and opened the door. Brian smelled something cooking, the aroma filled the small house. And, he was reminded how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten since lunch, but he didn't dare ask Pete to fix him anything.

“Come on in, kiddo.” Mr. Eldridge stood by the stove, stirring a large black pot, heating on a burner, that made a bubbling sound.

“I figured as much. Take off your coat and grab two bowls.”

Brian left the Monster Trucks box on the table, and took the bowls from the cabinet.

“You ever had rabbit stew?” Mr. Eldridge asked.

Brian held the bowl next to the pot, “No, sir.”

Mr. Eldridge dipped a large, ladled spoon into the pot, and poured the stew into the bowl, “Careful, it’s hot.”

Brian had two bowls of the stew, the warm meal settling nicely in his belly. He began to relax.

Mr. Eldridge picked up the box with the Monster Trucks. “I used to have a big truck like this, a long time ago.”

“Really? Did you live here?” Brian asked.

“No, back when I lived in Tennessee. Yeah.”

“Where else did you live, Mr. Eldridge?”

“I told you to call me ‘Max’. I lived all over the world, kiddo; seen some great stuff, met some interesting people. Some good, some not so good,” Mr. Eldridge’s voice drifted. Brian noticed that Mr. Eldridge seemed to drift a lot when he talked about the past. His eyes would glaze over, his voice sounded distant. It was like he was seeing his past all over again.

“Let me open this for you,” he said.

Brian watched Max Eldridge smile, as he took out each of the trucks, examining each one, before handing them to Brian.

“These are beauties; you should start a collection. It’s nice to collect things.”

“You have any collections Mister, I mean, Max?”

Brian watched Mr. Eldridge get that far away look in his eyes, again. He sat back in the kitchen chair, absently scratched his beard. Finally, he said,

Brian sat on the thick blanket Mr. Eldridge had given him. The basement was small, smelled like mildew, and very cold. In the corner was a large beat-up trunk. Brian had the feeling that whatever was inside was special, and he felt special because Mr. Eldridge was allowing him to see it.

“You wanna see a collection?” Mr. Eldridge reached into his pocket for the key; it looked just as old as the trunk. He carefully opened the lock. “Here’s a collection,” Mr. Eldridge said, letting out a sigh as he maneuvered his way down to the floor, his cane assisting him. Each time he moved, he squinted, and Brian wanted to help him, but knew there was nothing he could do .

Finally on the floor, his legs stretched on the side of the trunk, Brian didn't move. He wasn't sure what was in there. Pete always called him a ‘crazy old man’, and told Angela she was just as crazy, for allowing Brian to be friends with him.

“He’s harmless, and kind.” Brian’s mom said.

Something Pete was not.

Mr. Eldridge glanced behind him, toward Brian, a grin on his face, and suddenly Brian could feel butterflies in his stomach.

Mr. Eldridge began placing items on the floor, saying, “I got these from India.” They were small vases: different colors, six of them, all differently designed. “I haggled with a street merchant over these. Barely paid anything for them.”

Brian crawled closer. “Wow, these are cool.” He picked one up, and asked, “You were in India?”

Mr. Eldridge stroked one of the vases. “Careful, don’t drop it. Yeah, I lived in India for a couple of years.”

Then, Mr. Eldridge pulled out a brown cloth bag. He turned it upside down, letting the item inside, fall into his hand. A pocket watch: gold, shiny. He reached for Brian’s hand, and placed the watch in his palm. Brian couldn't believe how heavy it was.

“Is this real gold?” Brian asked.

“Yep. Got this from England. A lady friend of mine gave it to me.” Brian observed his old friend blink back a tear, and he felt sorry for him.

“Bet she was just as pretty as this watch,” Brian said.

Mr. Eldridge smiled and nodded .

Mr. Eldridge sniffed, and pulled out a wooden, rectangular box. “Here’s something you’ll be interested in, kiddo.” Inside the wooden box, was an old, silver car.

“Wow!” Brian had never seen a toy car like this. Mr. Eldridge handed it to him. It was heavier than the watch.

“That, my boy, is a 1929 Studebaker, in pure silver ,” Mr. Eldridge touched the wheels gently.

“How much did you pay for it?” Brian stroked the car with his finger.

“Eh,” Mr. Eldridge waved his hand, “won it in a card game in Italy.”

Brian placed the car on the floor, and rolled it back and forth.

“No, no,” Mr. Eldridge said, “It’s not for playing. You can’t bang this up like those others you’ve got. This one is just for display.” Brian nodded, then held the car in his hand, observing the details.

“And if you promise to treat it well, Brian, you know, not to crash it up, it’s yours.”

Brian felt his chest get tight; he wasn't sure if it was due to the excessive dust in Mr. Eldridge’s basement or excitement.

“What? Wait, I can keep this? You’re giving this to me?”

Mr. Eldridge chuckled, “Only if you promise not to bang it up.”

“No, I won’t, really, I won’t.”

“Well, than its yours, kiddo.”

Brian grabbed the old man around the neck, hugging him as tight as he could, “You’re my best friend, Mr. Eldridge. I mean, Max. ”

Brian felt Mr. Eldridge’s dry lips on his cheek, and then he sat back, pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his eyes. Brian felt like crying, too. He’d never met anyone like Max Eldridge. Just plain kind. Brian imagined his father would've liked him. He pictured the two men, sitting at the table together, laughing, exchanging stories, while his mother cooked, and Brian sat at ease, listening to them.

“You’ve been all over, huh, Max?”

“Yep, sure have.”

Brian leaned over, looking inside the trunk, “You really have a treasure, don’t you?”

Mr. Eldridge grinned, “You could say that.”

Brian noticed a bright blue velvet box, at the bottom of the trunk, almost the same length as the trunk.

“What’s in there, Max?”

Brian reached for the box, the material swished beneath his fingers.

“No, don’t touch that.” Brian jumped at Mr. Eldridge’s response.

“Uh, nothing; it’s nothing, kiddo.”

Brian began to cough, phlegm settling into his chest again.

“Brian, let’s get you upstairs. It’s too dusty for you down here.”

Brian wiped the dust from his pants. He helped Mr. Eldridge up, and they walked up the stairs. Brian tightly gripped the silver car in his hand.

Up the stairs, they entered the kitchen to find Pete standing there .

Brian could feel his breath become heavy. Holding the silver Studebaker behind him, he took a step back.

“What the hell were you two doing?” Pete’s voice was flat, his stance confrontational.

“I didn't invite you into my home. You’re trespassing.” Mr. Eldridge said.

Pete walked towards Mr. Eldridge, until he was inches away from his face, “You having fun down there with your little playmate? What? You like little wee-wee’s?”

Brian took a breath, “Stop it, Pete.” Cough.

Brian could feel his body go cold as Pete turned towards him, “Is that why you like coming over here?”

“You need to leave, now , Pete. Before I say something this boy shouldn't hear.” Mr. Eldridge shifted his weight to his left leg, and then stood tall, holding the cane slightly in front of him.

“You feeling strong, old man?” Pete chuckled.

A heavy silence fell over the dimly lit kitchen. Brian could feel his heart beat harder.

“Pete, Brian, come on, dinner’s ready!” Angela’s voice shattered the silence, carrying a welcome relief to Brian.

“Let’s go you, little shit.” Pete pulled Brian forward.

“Don’t forget your trucks, kiddo.” Mr. Eldridge handed Brian the Monster Trucks and gave him a wink.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Max.” Brian said, defiantly .

Brian sat on his bedroom floor, on his new Star Wars rug his mother had bought him. He told her he’d already eaten at Mr. Eldridge’s and wanted to go to his room to play with his new trucks. But the Monster Trucks sat on Brian’s dresser, while he observed the intricate details of his beautiful old silver car.

There was a new respect for the old man, his friend, Max Eldridge. Brian had no idea he’d been so many different places in the world. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do the same.

“You’re not going, Angela. You’re staying here, and you’ll cook Easter dinner here.”

Pete’s voice rose to Brian’s bedroom. Brian could feel his back tighten.

“I’m going to see my family. You’re welcome to come.” Brian’s mother’s voice was firm.

“I said you’re not going, Angela.”

Their voices a slow progress to becoming shrill, the butterflies returned to Brian’s belly.

Soon, it sounded like all out war; the sound of dish ware and chairs moving filling the downstairs.

Brian left his room and stood at the top of the stairs.

“Stop it, Pete, let me go!” Brian took two steps forward, and what sounded like a clap reverberated through the house. Brian stumbled back, as his mother ran up the stairs pushing Brian into his bedroom, and slamming the door closed .

The left side of her face was bright red, her blouse disheveled and loose.

“Mom, are you OK?”

“Shhh!” Angela pushed Brian’s chair under the doorknob. Pete’s footsteps were quick and heavy. Three loud bangs and the chair jammed beneath the door moved violently.

“I’ll kick this door in on your face!” came Pete’s angry voice. Brian’s mother held him close to her, “Go away! I’ll call the cops, Pete!”

One kick, and the chair seemed to fly across the room, as Brian’s door flew wide open. Pete moved in quickly, pushing Angela to Brian’s bed.

“Don’t you touch my mom!” Brian grabbed and threw the closest thing to him: the solid silver Studebaker. Brian’s aim was off, and the antique only nicked the side of Pete’s head, but there was blood.

The look on Pete’s face stopped Brian from moving or breathing; his body shivered involuntarily. If the Devil existed, he was staring at Brian.

“If you touch my son, I’ll knock your head off.” Brian looked and saw his mom holding his bat like a pro baseball player.

It was after 11:03 p.m. when Brian heard the soft cries, and low voices coming from his mother’s bedroom.

They were making up. Brian could tell by his mother’s tone.

By 11:33 p.m. Brian could hear moans coming from behind their closed door. His mother wasn't mad anymore .

Brian wondered what Pete had said to convince his mom that he wouldn't hurt her, or him. He wondered why she didn't just throw Pete out, like she said she would so many times before. By midnight, Brian was in bed and a gentle knock rapped at his door.

His mother came in and closed the door behind her. Her smile was faint, her eyes misty.

“How you doing, honey?”

Brian shrugged, “OK, I guess.”

Angela sat on Brian’s bed, her leg slipped from between her robe and the bareness embarrassed Brian.

“Honey, I want you to know, that I’d never let Pete hurt you—not ever.”

Brian sat up, “Why do you stay with him, mom? He hurts you. Did dad ever hurt you?”

“No, your daddy was very different from Pete. And I miss him everyday, sometimes, too much. Maybe that’s why…” she looked away, brushed back a tear.

“Anyway, he’s promised to do better, Brian.”
“Yeah, he’s promised that before, mom.” Brian couldn't hide his frustration.

His mother sighed, “Well, we’ll be having Easter dinner here this year.”
“We’re not going to grandma’s?” The disappointment in his tone, clear.

“No, Brian. We’ll have dinner here, as a family. Just me, you, and Pete. ”

Brian lay back on his pillow; he could feel the tears welling up and swallowed hard.

“We’re all going to try a little harder around here, honey.”

Brian tried not to move his leg as his mother stroked it.

“Can we have Mr. Eldridge over for Easter dinner, too? He’s alone.”

“Well, I’ll check with Pete and …”

Brian turned over, his back to his mother, “Never mind.”

Brian could feel someone in his room. Staring at his clock, it now read 1:43 a.m.. He sat up quickly, the glow of his Batman clock capturing Pete’s silhouette leaning on Brian’s dresser.

Brian felt so small, in the darkness, “W- What do you want?”

Pete sat on Brian’s bed; Brian recoiled. With his back against his headboard, there was nowhere for him to go.

“Where’d you get this?” Pete’s voice was light, as he held the antique silver Studebaker in front of Brian, donning a teasing grin.

With all the commotion, Brian had forgotten about his new treasure. He reached for it but, drawing it closer to his chest, Pete’s grin widened, “I asked you a question. You don't want me to tell your mom that you’re being difficult. Especially since we’re trying to make a fresh start.”

Brian sat up straighter, his hands clutching his sheets, “She’d wanna know what you were doing in my room in the middle of the night. ”

“I heard you coughing and wheezing, and looked in on you. Now, were’d you get this, you little shit?”

“Mr. Eldridge,” the moment Brian said his name he wanted to take it back.

“Really?” Pete’s face brightened in the dark.

“Is that what he was showing you in that basement … all his crap?”

Brian sat still, feeling a prisoner in his own bed.

“Yeah, I bet he’s got a lot of good crap.” Pete whispered, his eyes focused on nothing.

Brian bit his bottom lip, the smell of cigarettes resting on Pete’s teeshirt. He could feel his chest getting tight.

“He’s probably got some money hidden somewhere, too,” Pete said. His eyes now focused on Brian, and Brian didn't like the way Pete’s thin face looked in the glow of his Batman clock. It looked … skeletal.

Pete stood slowly, walking towards Brian’s bedroom door, his eyes on the solid silver Studebaker.

Brian leaned forward, “That’s mine. I’ll tell mom you took it from me.”

Pete’s tall thin frame stood still. Brian thought he resembled a shadow.

Placing the Studebaker gently on Brian’s dresser, Pete turned to Brian, “Yeah, well, I’m sure there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Brian realized at that moment, Pete was going to do something bad to his friend, Max Eldridge .

Brian’s mom made his favorite breakfast but, he barely touched it. Pete was in a very good mood, humming as he ate his pancakes.

“You coming with me to the store this morning, right hun?” Angela asked Pete.

Licking his fingers Pete sat back in the chair. “I got a better idea. You’ve got a lot to do around here for tomorrow’s Easter dinner. I’ll run to the store and pick up what you need.”

“Really, hun? You sure?”

Brian hated when his mother called Pete ‘hun’. He cringed.

“Yep, I got a few errands to run anyway; just write me out a list.”

“Oh, that’s great, thanks so much.” Angela kissed Pete’s cheek and Brian couldn't help but role his eyes.

This was the man who had slapped her the day before, and had beat her with a rolling pin a few months ago. Pete stood, and before walking out the front door, he winked at Brian.

Brian sat at the kitchen table with Mr. Eldridge. He drank hot cocoa, Mr. Eldridge drank black coffee. Brian told him about the night before, about the solid silver Studebaker, the questions Pete had asked, and how scared he was for Mr. Eldridge.

Brian tapped his feet nervously on the floor. “He’s going to do something, I know it, Max. He thinks you’ve hidden money in here.”

Max Eldridge sipped his coffee, his eyes staring down at his wooden kitchen table.

“Max, I don't want anything to happen to you. I’m scared. ”

“I’ll be ok, kiddo,” Mr. Eldridge said, but Brian could hear the uncertainty in his voice. Brian watched Mr. Eldridge sip his coffee, his hands shaking each time he lifted the cup to his mouth, his lips working each time he swallowed.

Brian imagined all the terrible things Pete could do to his friend. He imagined the awfulness of it, the hopelessness of the situation and began to cry.

Brian couldn't contain the pain and fear anymore.”I don’t want you to die, Max. I don’t want my mom to die.”

Mr. Eldridge pulled his chair closer to Brian’s.”What do you mean? Did Pete hurt your mom again?”

Brian met Mr. Eldridge’s eyes, and he saw the concern there. Brian opened his mouth, but the words get stuck in his throat. His attention was no longer on Mr. Eldridge, but on Pete, who was standing in the frame of the backdoor.

Mr. Eldridge turned around quickly, and Pete chuckled.

“I didn't mean to scare you guys, I just wanted to have a word with you, Max.”

Mr. Eldridge gripped his cane and stood, “What about?”

“Well,” Pete stepped inside, “I think I owe you an apology. That wasn't very neighborly of me yesterday, talking to you the way I did.”

Mr. Eldridge shrugged, “OK.”

“You know, we’ve been neighbors for a while now, and I think Brian knows more about you than Angie and I do.” Pete walked slowly around the kitchen, his eyes on everything .

“There’s not much to know.” Mr. Eldridge said.

Brian shifted in the chair. His heart rate had gone up; his chest was once again tight. He reached into his pocket for his inhaler.

“I think there’s a lot more to know than you let on, Max.” Pete sat at the table, “So, Max, that old Studebaker you gave Brian. That is a nice piece. Where’d you get it?”

“I don’t remember.” Mr. Eldridge said, staring at Brian.

“Really? Well, it’s pretty cool, and pretty expensive. Am I right?” Pete laughed, but no one else did. And, Brian wished he hadn’t thrown the Studebaker at him.

Pete and Brian sat at the table while Mr. Eldridge stood in the middle of his kitchen, leaning on his cane.

Brian couldn't stop his feet from tapping on the floor. The sound irritated him, but he just couldn't stop. He felt like he was about to have a bowel movement.

Finally, Pete rose from the chair, “Well, I’d love to hang out with you guys, but, I promised I’d help the little woman. But, Max, maybe when I come back you can show me what’s in the basement.”

When Pete walked out the door, Brian saw Mr. Eldridge lock the back door for the first time.

“I need you to come down to the basement with me, Brian.” Mr. Eldridge said .

The bright blue velvet box lay across the cold concrete floor, Brian couldn't take his eyes off it. Mr. Eldridge told Brian that it was a gift from a man, whose life he’d saved back in Vietnam all those years ago.

“It can only be used once,” Mr. Eldridge said, and then he opened the box.

Six eggs, all of them different shades of red. Larger than the average egg, Mr. Eldridge had to use both hands to pick one up.

“You’re right, Brian. Pete’s a very dangerous man.” Mr. Eldridge rubbed the egg gently, “But, there’s a solution.”

Brian brought the bright blue box back to his room. Mr. Eldridge told Brian all had he had to do was get a few strands of Pete’s hair. That was all. While Pete drank beer and watched television, and his mother seasoned the ham, Brian took Pete’s comb from the bathroom. Brian pulled out the strands from the comb and placed them in the box. Just like Mr. Eldridge told him to. Then he placed the bright blue velvet box containing the eggs under his bed, and waited.

The hum and rattle of the baseboard heater surrounded Brian’s room. His bedroom door open, he could hear his mother brushing her teeth. 11:07 p.m., and Pete is still in the living room, watching television. But Brian knew they were both waiting for his mom to go to bed, and both for different reasons.

Brian lay in bed, listening anxiously to his mother’s stride. She walked quickly down the stairs, moving a few things in the kitchen. Brian heard her say goodnight to Pete, then she ran back up the stairs. Leaning over, her hair brushing Brian’s face, he could smell the soap on her neck. Her lips landed full on his cheek.

“Love you, honey. Get a goodnight’s sleep,” Brian’s mom said.

12:46 a.m. Brian could hear Pete moving around downstairs. What was he doing? And what was going on with those eggs under his bed? He could hear nothing out of the ordinary. He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Brian closed his eyes. The footsteps stopped just outside his room. It was Pete. Brian lay still, trying hard to control his breathing. When the footsteps walked away, Brian opened his eyes and heard Pete walking down the stairs. And then, there was a sound beneath his bed, cracking and sharp.

Brian could feel the temperature in his body drop; the coolness of his sweat ran across his forehead. The crackling sound became louder, and then the smell of rotten eggs filled Brian’s room, causing him to gag. The sound of popping and sizzling filled Brian’s room and his legs moved involuntarily; his nerves getting the best of him.

“Remember, they’re not here for you. They only go after the one whose hairs have been placed in the box,” Mr.Eldridge had told him. And Mr. Eldridge, Max, was his friend; he wouldn't lie to him. Still, Brian wished he’d closed the door to his mother’s bedroom door.

Next, the sound of something oozing, bubbling and then faint chirping. Brian could feel movement beneath him. There was the urge to look, to see what they were, but Brian’s body felt like it didn't belong to him.

He could hear Pete open the front door, and then it closed. A loud screech and Brian could feel a bouncing movement beneath him. Little steps could be heard heading towards his bedroom door. Released from fear’s power, he sat up, catching a glimpse of the creatures.

Both excited and terrified, Brian swung his legs over the bed; his feet landed directly on top of a clear, jello-like, slime that was warm and slippery. Multi-hued, red shells had been expelled across the floor.

The chirping sound seemed to descend down the stairs. Brian widened his eyes, trying to get a better look at the creatures that had just been unleashed.

They were brightly colored—whatever they were—yellow, and red. They were small, not quite as big as chickens, but larger than baby chicks. They left slime on the steps, and Brian stopped, realizing he didn't have on his shoes, or coat. By the time he put them on, the creatures were out the door…the opening of the door’s mail slot still swaying.

Pulling back the living room window curtain, Brian watched Pete walk stealthily across the yard, heading to Mr. Eldridge’s house … a pillow case in his hand. He’d been right. Pete was going to hurt Mr. Eldridge. And eventually he would hurt his mother, or worse. What they were doing was right. The fear seemed to flow from him. Brian opened the door slowly; the moonlight cast a dim glow across the ground.

Brian couldn't see Pete, either. Walking across the yard, he saw Mr. Eldridge’s back door was open.

“Oh no!” he breathed.

Tiptoeing to Mr.Eldridge’s back porch, and unsure of the situation, Brian could do nothing but stand still.

If Pete was already inside, Mr.Eldridge was in trouble. The thought was overwhelming. Brian began to breathe heavily, his asthma threatening to flare. He couldn't let his friend get hurt. Brian searched the ground for a large rock; large enough to hurt Pete with, but not too large for Brian’s hands.

Searching diligently for his weapon, Brian tripped, landing on his hands and knees. Passing quickly, less than a foot away from him, all six creatures bounded up on Mr. Eldridge’s back porch. Brian was able to see them, now, the moonlight accentuating their features.

Their beaks were pointed and sharp-hooked, like a sickle. Their pointed teeth looked too large for their small heads. Brian held his breath and his lungs began to hurt. Their claws were long and sharp like an eagle. Their bright yellow coat almost too bright to look at, and Brian could see that the bright red color pulsated; then realized it was their veins. And they had just one eye in the center of their head: dull, pink, and large.

They went inside Mr. Eldridge’s house, hopping quickly.

Some clanking noise and a groan came up from the basement. Brian walked slowly down the stairs to find only a low beam light above Mr. Eldridge’s head. His hands and feet duct-taped, and a bruise on his forehead. Pete was holding one of the vases from India, when he noticed Brian standing at the bottom of the stairs.”Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve got company, Max.”

He walked over to Brian; grabbing him quickly, he threw him down next to Mr. Eldridge.

“I’ll have to figure out what I can do with you, once I’m done here. And you know what?” Pete knelt in front of Brian, “I’m going to enjoy it.”

A high-pitched squeal at the top of the stairs interrupted Pete. They stood together, all six of them, heads moving quickly, their teeth gnashing loudly. Pete lost his footing and stumbled back, falling on his back, “Holy Christ!”

As the creatures hopped down the stairs, Brian worked on ripping away Mr. Eldridge’s duct tape.

“What the hell are they? What the hell is this?” Pete shouted.

Walking to the other side of the basement, Brian said, “They’re here for you, Pete. Just for you.”

Mr. Eldridge held Brian close, as the newly-hatched creatures made their way to Pete.

They surrounded him, at first. Pete tried throwing something, anything at them, but the creatures didn't move .

“Brian, please, get them away from me!” Pete pleaded, while he tried scooting away on his forearms. But the creatures were now on him. Two on his leg, one on his chest, one on his stomach and two directly above his eyes.

“No, no, oh God, please!” The moment Pete tried swiping them away, it began. It was like a feast for the creatures, each taking a part of Pete’s body. They tore into his belly first, one working its way to his intestines, and then slowly pulling them out, eating them as if it had just pulled a worm from the ground. The creatures pulled out the veins inside Pete’s leg, each of them working their beaks through the flesh. Pete’s screams were loud, excruciating.

“Someone will hear,” Brian whispered to Mr. Eldridge.

“No, not down here,” Mr. Eldridge whispered back.

Then, they pecked away at his eyes, and Brian thought Pete would scream so hard, that he’d scare the creatures away. But they weren't scared away. They were there to do a job.

Brian and Mr. Eldridge held on to one another watching Pete’s limbs flail, and his head rock from side to side, while his blood covered Mr. Eldridge’s basement floor.

Looking down at Pete, Brian couldn't believe he was afraid of him, he seemed so helpless laying there covered in his own blood. The screams became less, as the creatures were working their way through the flesh pretty quickly. Soon, bone was exposed, and Pete’s body shivered every now and again. In the end, it was just reflex…until he moved no more .

Brian thought he would feel something: remorse, or sadness. He thought about Pete beating his mom, Brian thought about the threats Pete had made, and what he’d done to Mr. Eldridge that night. He was capable of this, and so much more. How much more? Brian was thankful they wouldn't have to find out.

When the creatures were done, they walked in a circle, on top of Pete’s body and then they began to shrink, slowly. Their heads folded into their necks, their legs became brittle and turned to dust. Eventually, only six balls of fur lay on Pete’s bloody body.

Mr. Eldridge’s basement was a mess.

“We better start cleaning up.” Brian said, pulling his inhaler out of his coat pocket, he took a deep breath.

“No, you go home. Your mom will be looking for him. You would've been in your bed all night, you know nothing,” Mr. Eldridge said, “You understand?”

“Go on, now go home, get into bed. I’ll take care of this.”

Brian did just that. He walked out into the night, the air cool against his face. He opened his door, locked it and walked quietly upstairs to the bathroom. His mother was still asleep; he could hear her snoring. Brian washed his face and hands. Went into his bedroom, hung up his coat, and changed his pyjamas. He cleaned the slime from his room and picked up the cracked, bright red egg shells on his floor. Then he got into bed, and slept. For the first time, in a long time, he slept without fear, and he slept hard.

He was awakened by the smell of ham and the sound of clanging pots.

Brian rubbed his eyes. The morning sun radiated through his window and seemed to engulf him.

His mother ran up the stairs and entered his room. “Hey, you’re finally awake,” she observed, kissing his cheek, “Happy Easter, honey.”

“Happy Easter, mom. The ham smells great.”

“Hey, do you know if Pete got up this morning to run to the store or something?”

Brian shrugged his shoulder, “No, I don't know.”

“Hmm, OK, well, take a shower, come downstairs, and help me, OK?”

Brian did as he was told.

The night before didn't seem real, but it was. As Brian helped his mother set the table, she checked her cell phone occasionally, made a few phone calls, but no one had seen Pete.

“That son of a bitch.” Brian could hear his mother say.

Mr. Eldridge sat on his back porch. Brian sat next to him. Neither of the two said a word for a while.

“How are you feeling today, kiddo?” Mr. Eldridge asked.

“I-I guess I feel OK.” Brian looked down at his sneakers, and noticed two blood spots on the right one. “I don’t know if that’s the way I’m supposed to feel, you know? ”

Mr.Eldridge nodded. “I understand.”

“How bout you; everything, ok, Max?”

“Everything’s fine, kiddo. No need for you to worry anymore.”

Brian’s mom walked up to them, “Hey, Mr.Eldridge, Happy Easter.”

“I can smell your meal from here, smells wonderful, Angela.”

“Thanks, umm, have you seen Pete around today? He seems to be missing in action.”

Mr. Eldridge shook his head, “No, sorry.”

“Mom, we have plenty of food. Can Mr. Eldridge come over for dinner?”

“Oh, no, no, son.” Mr. Eldridge stood to go back inside his house, “I don’t want to impose on the family.”

“But, Max,” Brian grabbed his hand, “you are family.”

Brian could see the mist reaching Mr. Eldridge’s eyes.

“Yeah, Mr.Eldridge, we’d love to have you, really,” Angela said.

That Easter Sunday, they enjoyed their dinner, they enjoyed one another’s company, and they enjoyed peace.

Later that night Angela held out a couple of bright red shards, “Brian, I found these underneath your bed. What are they?”