In the Belly of the Beast

21

Sam grabbed Lenny and led him to the room they shared. He closed the door and told the older boy everything, spilling his guts like the great secret agent he truly was not. He didn't know if Lenny understood a word he was saying, but the simple fact that Sam was telling someone made him feel better.

Lenny sat mesmerized while Sam chattered away. Sam was slightly put off by the trail of spittle that wormed down Lenny's chin. Of course, the boy embellished the details. His every action was edged with danger. But what the hell, Sam thought, it was his story, his secret.

He was the one who had creeped across the booby-trapped mine fields in their lawn. He was the one who had dodged the lethal death rays and grenades tossed at him by the unseen enemy next door. He was the one who would not turn back.

Hadn't he been brave enough to peek into the window?

The old bat next door would have cut off his hands with a rusty butcher knife if she'd caught him.

Funny thing was, now that he thought about it, the old bat seemed neither that old nor that decrepit. Not up close anyway.

He remembered the mysterious visitor he'd seen enter the house a few days earlier. Although he had seen nothing of the sort, he related to Lenny how the stranger had arsenal of weapons and was probably a madman.

For all Sam knew, the stranger was a repairman summoned to fix the heat. But a heating and air man was hardly the stuff of exciting stories.

Sam found being the center of attention intoxicating. He made his tale as wild and as unbelievable as he possibly could. He left out the part about the old lady's bruises, though. They were no longer important since they were no longer there.

He was truthful when he told Lenny the lady next door was kind of pretty. She was old, but not as ancient as he'd first thought, probably about the same age as Lenny's mom, and he complained bitterly about having to stay indoors.

It really was terrible, but there was absolutely nothing Sam could do because the F.M. had suddenly grown eyes in the back of her head. He'd tried everything he could think of to escape outside, only to be marched back into the house. Sam had no idea what had come over the F.M.

All of a sudden, she acted concerned about his welfare. Maybe his sore throat act had been too convincing, and she really was afraid he'd infect Lenny with a terrible bug of some kind.

He made a mental note to tone down his performance the next he needed an unscheduled vacation day. Whatever had lit her fires, he'd be glad when they finally burned out and she lost interest in him again.

For now, though, the F.M. was in her hyper-vigilant mode.

***

At this rate, the only option left to Sam would be a night attack. He planned to sneak out when the F.M. was asleep, and he could only hope she slept more soundly than her son.

Lenny never slept, at least that had been Sam's first impression.

He was afraid of the dark, too.

That had been evident the first night he had stayed at his new home. The light stayed on all night in the upstairs room Lenny shared with Sam. Sam didn't mind anymore, once he figured out that all he had to do was throw his arm across his eyes, and it was night.

Those first few nights with Lenny had been scary for other reasons.

Every single time he peeked at Lenny from beneath his arm, no matter the hour, Lenny would be sitting cross-legged like an Indian chief, his back against the wall in the center of his twin bed, blankly staring at Sam.

Sam had the uneasy feeling that Lenny was some kind of slow pervert and was horrified, certain that Lenny was waiting for the chance to do dirty things to him. Sam tried desperately to stay awake, but exhaustion would finally overtake him.

He forced himself awake many times during the night, only to find Lenny still staring. It was unbearably creepy.

By the end of the first week, he had just about concluded that Lenny slept with his eyes opened, but he happened to see the F.M. pour a powdery substance into Lenny's bedtime glass of warm milk. It was then he figured out that Lenny's old lady drugged him up at night to let her get some sleep.

Whatever the powder was, it worked, turning Lenny into a zombie for eight hours. It wore off the next day, and Lenny was his same old worrisome self. Now, Sam felt free to turn into a zombie himself and slept like the dead each night.

***

Sam spent his afternoon gathering supplies and making plans. He was proud of himself, sure that he'd thought of everything. It was a good plan. He'd spent at least five minutes on it.

Lenny wouldn't be a problem. After his dose of zombie powder, Sam could forget about him. All he needed to do was sneak quietly out of the house and over to the neighbor's window.

If he was lucky, fat guy's shade would be up enough to allow Sam a glimpse.

Sam congratulated himself on a brilliant plan. He'd thought of everything, of every single detail. Nothing could stop him. 

Nothing that is except a power blackout on the block.