The Boy with Words for Skin

Chapter 4: The Walk There

The house was totally silent. My heart beat so hard I thought it was going to explode. It felt like something else was going to happen. I just had no idea what that something else would be. A couple of seconds later, a wail broke the silence. It was Rope.

Kit rushed into the front hallway. "Is everyone okay?" she called down to us. Instead of waiting for a response, she darted into the parlor. "Are you guys okay?" she said again, this time to the others. A pause and then, "Why are all the clothes on the floor?"

D-rip and Z burst into laughter.

"Help us! We're drowning!"

"No! Save yourself!"

More laughter.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, pick that up! Fold it all, too! And hurry. Dinner's ready in fifteen minutes."

The Girl with Chair Legs, Legs for short, hobbled into the front hallway from the dining area. She was another one who'd never be able to pass for normal. It looked like someone had chopped her in half at the waist, sawed off the back of a chair, and stuck her top half to where the back of the chair used to be. The seat of the chair stuck out behind her. It made her look like a weird centaur. She couldn't really move the chair legs, so when she needed to get around she had to wobble from side to side or scoot or hop.

She held Rope tight against her chest and whispered in his ear. She was only nine and slower than most kids, but she was better with Rope than anyone else. If she wasn't holding him, he was probably sitting on the chair part of her. That worked out pretty good because he couldn't move around that well. His arms and legs had been replaced with thick ropes, none of them the same length. He could move his ropes, but not very well. He didn't have much strength in them and got tired easily.

"What was that, Words?" Boy asked. He crouched down and pet The Headless Dog.

I turned to him and opened my mouth, but I didn't know what to say.

There were two entrances into the parlor, one next to the entryway closet and the other down the hall by the dining area. Kit came out of the parlor archway closest to the front door just then. She rested a hand on Eyes' shoulder. "You okay?"

Eyes nodded. "I'm fine."

"Good." Kit came over to me. She moved in close. "What was that?"

My skin tingled in a way that had nothing to do with shedding. I pulled on the drawstrings of my hood and lowered my head. "I don't know."

"Legs," she called down the hallway without taking her eyes off me. "Could you please start mashing the potatoes?"

Legs nodded. "Come on, Rope." She made her voice deep. "Rope smash!"

Rope let out a hesitant laugh and then they shuffled back into the kitchen. Kit moved in even closer to me. Our faces were almost touching. I wondered if she could read the words on my face. What were they just then? Something about a family vacation when I was eight?

"Do you have any idea what that was?" she whispered. "It came from the basement. Do you think they're okay down there? Porcelain's down there, too."

I could smell her perfume, roses, mixed with what she was making for dinner, boiled potatoes and some kind of beef. Her blond hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Butterflies are normally gentle, but when they're inside your chest they're savages.

"We should check on them," she said. "Make sure they're okay."

She was always doing that, trying to have secret conversations with me about ways we—her and I—needed to take charge or take care of everyone else. Part of me liked that she thought I was the kind of boy who could be a leader. Another part of me, a bigger part of me, didn't want that kind of pressure. It didn't matter if we were the oldest boy and girl inside 407 West Marshall Street. We were still only sixteen. Maybe she was ready for that kind of responsibility, but I wasn't.