The Boy with Words for Skin

Chapter 2: The Man with the Accordion Legs

I sat on the sidewalk for a few minutes before going inside and sneaking upstairs to my room. I was lucky. No one saw me and Rope wasn't there. I shut the door as quietly as I could and then rushed over to my bed and pulled on my hoodie. It wasn't anything special, just plain gray, no logos or pictures or anything. I pulled the hood over my head and yanked on the strings so the fabric pulled tight around my face. I instantly felt so much better.

I could smell the pancakes, the melted chocolate chips. It made my stomach growl, but I didn't go down for breakfast.

Instead, I took down my Token--a small notebook with a dirty, faded green cover--from the shelf over the head of my bed. I threw myself down on my mattress and held it above me so I could look at it. I rubbed it between my hands and flipped through the dirty, wrinkled blank pages. I pinched a corner between two fingers and made it swing back and forth.

A lot of people in Oak Knoll blamed The Man with the Accordion Legs for what happened. I did, too, at first. But the more I thought about it, the less I could think he was truly the one responsible.

The Man with the Accordion Legs had been around Oak Knoll for as long as even the oldest grandparents could remember, but no one knew much about him. We knew he was really old, which was obvious by his gray hair and wrinkly, saggy skin, and we knew he lived in the big windowless house up on West Marshall Street. We knew he went to the grocery store once a week but never paid for anything--old man Trimble, the owner, was too nice, and said it didn't matter because he never took much anyway. We also knew he'd walk through town every day at sunset. We actually scheduled our lives around that.

Just before sunset every day, the streets of Oak Knoll emptied. Everyone went inside and closed their drapes and blinds. The adults either rushed home from work or stayed late so they'd come back in the dark. The handful of businesses in town stayed open, but the workers avoided the windows and doors.

Why would a whole town do all of that just to avoid some cranky old guy? There were a few reasons, actually. For one, he was mean. He scowled at everyone and everything. I'm pretty sure I saw him glare at a butterfly once. Secondly, he lived in a big windowless house that no one had ever been inside of, which, needless to say was super creepy. And then, of course, there were his legs.

I don't think any one of those was really more of a reason than the others. I think they all kind of added up in this weird way that made him scary enough to avoid but not scary enough to do something about. We didn't want to see him, but we talked about him a lot--kids, parents, everyone. Why was he so mean? What was the deal with that house? How old was he, anyway? We talked and talked about him, asking questions and dreaming up possible answers. His legs, though, were probably what we talked about the most.

We called him The Man with the Accordion Legs for a reason. He always wore pants, so no one ever saw what his legs actually looked like, but that didn't matter. When he stepped forward on his right leg, it scrunched together and he'd dip way down to the right and almost fall over. Then, when he stepped forward on his left leg, the same thing would happen to the left side--only his right leg would stretch back out. He'd walk like that, bouncing up and down, swaying to the right and left. What made it even worse was the terrible noise he made when he walked. With every step he took, with every bounce, his legs cracked and slurped.

So, I take it back. If there was a single reason why people avoided The Man with the Accordion Legs, it was his cracking and slurping. It made your skin crawl and your joints feel like they were being twisted.

We tried to figure out what was wrong with him, but no one could ever find anything about a deformity like his online. It made him scarier and more interesting at the same time.