Hudsonville: Tales of the Hunted

Chapter 7: Bad Press

Thursday—it was a day just like any other for most, but for Andy, time was ticking, and the days seemed to be blowing by. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, now Thursday—Andy only had until Sunday before the moon was full and his humanity was lost—yet here he was, sleeping in bed, totally exhausted and blissful in his slumber. Some days, despite the painful hunger in his stomach and the dryness of his throat, he felt as though he could sleep forever. Ah, but such things were not meant to last forever—before the boy could get a wink more of rest that morning, he was rudely awoken by aggressive rapping on the front door. Before he could even style his hair or slip out of his jammies, the boy made his way to the front door, dreading who could possibly be knocking at this hour—especially after all the trouble he'd gotten himself into—and sure enough, as soon as he opened the front door...

A familiar serpentine shape filled the doorframe.

"Hello, Mr. Kessler." Hudson spoke without his usual lackadaisical cadence and had jumped right to a voice of stern authority—the boy only had to make an educated guess of what this was about.

"...Mr. Hudson," Andy greeted with a sweat. "Could I help ya with somethin'?"

Hudson raised a brow and entered the home, nearly pushing the boy out of his way as he slithered inside. Andy hesitated to say anything more, just following the man inside toward the dining room. There, Hudson began to tap his fingers on the kitchen table, beckoning the boy closer.

"Why don't you have a seat, Mr. Kessler?"

Gulp. Andy did as instructed, and scooted onto one of the chairs, feeling much smaller before the giant than he ever had before. His head kept hanging low. Hudson, on the other side of the table, remained standing tall over the boy. The light reflected brightly off his glasses. The silence was deafening—and every time Andy felt it was about to break, it only got quieter. The moment the man began to speak, it was like the loudest hiss he'd ever heard.

"So, Mr. Kessler," Hudson's voice boomed. "Meet anybody interesting lately?"

The question rattled around back and forth in Andy's mind, like a screensaver that bounces from corner to corner. The boy could hear the beads of sweat dripping from off his face and onto the table. Staring at his feet, he did his best to shake his head.

"Not a whole lot, sir. I ain't really a people person."

"Really? Is that right? You haven't been gettin' involved with the wrong crowd, I take it? Haven't been nosin' around with a couple of hooligans right off the bat? Gettin' into places where you don't belong?"

"Sir, I—"

Hudson slapped his palm hard on the table.

"I gave you this home, Andy Kessler, and I gave it out of goodwill—so for you to go and immediately squander that trust? For you to deliberately go out of your way, to break into my office, to stir up trouble in my town? Why, I ought to serve you right up to the Order on a silver platter."

The dishes seemed to rattle with Hudson's slap, the ground shaking just a bit, causing Andy to jolt and tremble.

"Well boy? You got somethin' to say for yourself?"

Despite this overwhelming sensation of fear welling up inside of him, however, something else began to build up inside. Resentment? Rage? He debated whether or not he should bite back, considering the woeful tale of his predecessor—but the urge became stronger and stronger as the man continued with his patronizing tone.

"I think," Andy started, going over the words in his head once or twice before he said them, confidence rising with his boiling blood. "...I think you're a rotten bastard, Mr. Hudson!"