THE BLANKET WASN’T BIG, BUT if the boy curled up, it could cover him. It could be his armor, his shield, his protector.
He lifted its middle so the fabric ballooned out below. He smiled. It could be a tent, a giant circus tent for fleas. Or it could be a floppy wizard’s cap; he wrapped it around his head with a grin. Or it could be a flag, and he waved it high.
“I claim this beach in the name of King Blanket.” He giggled.
Or it could be—
A scuffling noise made the boy jump. Wind riffled the leaves and he dropped the blanket. Was it the beast? The Wolf that maybe lived in the trees? He thought he could smell something awful. Or was it the terrible birds come to attack him again?
He stumbled, tripped, and fell. His heel had caught a rock, partly hidden by sand, and running from it were two crabs, each no longer than his hand. They were so pale in color, they almost blended into the sand. They must’ve been near the rock, the boy thought, and they must be running from him.
“No, don’t go!” He waved at them. “I’m not scary.” But the crabs hurried into a hole. They were probably friends. Proper friends, not like the bully and him. Friends who helped each other.
The boy could use a friend.
The scuffling started again, closer this time, and the boy froze. The noise was coming from the rock. The scuffling turned into scraping, and next to the rock, grains of sand flipped into the air, making a tiny, dusty fountain. The boy shuffled backward and stared.
“It won’t be good, whatever it is.”
“How do you know?” He clenched his fist in case the bully was right.
“Just do. It’ll be scary, or terrible—or scary and terrible. You don’t want to see it.”
The boy’s insides twisted. But whatever was making the noise, it had to be small. And he could run from something small.
Down on his knees, he peered around the rock. On the other side, almost out of view, was another crab. It was smaller than the others, barely as long as the boy’s finger. He knelt closer and watched. The fountain sprayed higher as the crab’s legs clawed the sand. It was trying to do its sideways dance, but it wasn’t going anywhere. One of its legs must have caught under the rock, and now the crab was trapped.
“Told you it’d be terrible.”
“It’s not terrible,” the boy said. “It’s cute.” He stared at the crab. “Hi.” The crab’s pincers snapped at the air.
“Watch out! Those things will hurt. Take your finger right off.”
“They will?”
“What do you think?”
The boy wasn’t sure, but just in case, he stayed back.
This crab was so small, and the words etched in his bones came back to him. The smaller something is, the more it needs protection.
“What do you need protection from?” the boy asked the crab. “Not me. I won’t hurt you. In fact, I can help you. . . . Maybe.”
The boy eyed the raised pincers and itched to run away, but the crab needed his help. He couldn’t leave it here alone—like him.
“Once upon a time,” the boy whispered, “there was a boy who couldn’t be hurt by a crab bite.”
He stretched out his hand but quickly pulled back when the crab’s pincers came close.
He bit his bottom lip. Now he needed help. He turned back to his place on the beach and saw the blanket, lounging on the sand. He smiled thinly, ran to it, then tied two of the corners around his neck and let the fabric flow behind him. It could be a cape.
“The brave knight had hands like steel. . . .” The boy strode to the other side of the rock, away from the crab and its pincers. “And he saved all the crabs in the land from the evil rock monster.”
Carefully, the boy wrapped his arms around the rock. He remembered the pain he had felt when he’d pressed down after he first woke up. Would this make it worse? He had to try. Holding his breath, the boy heaved upward. His arm burned, but he kept the rock high until the crab scuttled a few steps away. Then the boy dropped the rock back onto the sand and rubbed the soreness in his arm.
The crab turned to the boy and raised both its pincers, but they didn’t snap.
“You’re free,” the boy said.
The tiny crab didn’t move, but the two bigger crabs crept out of their hole. Hurrying to the smaller one with their pincers held high, they corralled the tiny crab across the sand back toward their hole.
Like protectors.
Like parents.
The boy straightened. Parents. The crabs were a family.
“We love you.” It was the woman’s voice again, twirling through the air.
“We miss you, kiddo.” And another voice! Deeper. A man. They lit a spark of memory—and the throbbing in his head once more.
“Mom,” he whispered, wishing he could concentrate on the voices without the pain. “Dad.”
Yes, he had parents! The realization coursed through him as he pushed the pain out of his head. These were their voices. But how could he hear them if they weren’t here? Or were they?
“Mom?” he shouted. “Dad?”
But there was nothing. No one. They’d been pulled out of some memory, he guessed. He wished they’d been a solid memory like the refrigerator.
The boy closed his eyes and could feel their love. The way his mother squeezed his hand in hers. The way his father patted his head. He couldn’t see them, not clearly. But he could see parts. His mother’s dark eyes, and her mouth pulled into a grin so wide, it showed the one crooked tooth that stuck out from the others. His father was more vague. The boy couldn’t see his hair or his eyes, just his lips that smiled when he said, “kiddo.”
The boy’s eyes snapped open.
Was kiddo his name? It felt more familiar than Dude Duds, but . . . The boy shook his head. It wasn’t right. Not completely.
Where were his parents now? At their home waiting for him? Out somewhere looking for him?
He closed his eyes and tried to picture them again. Were they tall? Short? Was their hair curly like his? He wished he knew. He wished he could see them, just once. No, if he was going to be honest, he wished he could see them all the time—be with them, touch them, forevermore.
But once would be better than nothing.
“Soon,” the boy whispered. They would find him and protect him, just like he had protected the crab.
The boy stood and the parent crabs darted into their hole. But the kid stayed out and stared at its rescuer.
“It’s all right,” the boy said. “I won’t hurt you. You could be my friend. If you want.”
“Friends with a crab?”
The crab peered at the boy . . . then skittered into its home.
The boy was alone again. The cheer he’d felt from saving the crab and remembering his parents drained into the deep sand below his feet.
Even the sun was leaving him. It was kissing the sea good-bye, and the sky had blushed red. The Green Wall was already turning black, just the lit-up eyes blinking in the darkness, but they weren’t friends.
The boy had been on the beach for a whole day, and no one had come for him and he had nowhere to go. All he had were wisps of memories, but they weren’t a home. He wished he had a hole like the crab family. But he was alone, at night, when any monster could get him.
As the waves snuck up higher, his stomach twisted. He clutched the blanket around him, hoping the waves wouldn’t find him in the dark. Hoping his one comfort could protect him.
“You think that’s going to save you, some flimsy bit of fabric?”
The boy sighed; he was probably wrong to hope. But the blanket was all he had. It had to help him. He needed it to.
“It’s not a blanket; it’s a cave,” the boy said, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “A pirate cave hidden so well that no thieves can find the treasure.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” the bully said, laughing.
And the boy did. He whispered it deep into the night, as the stars twinkled overhead and the moon watched over him until he finally slept.