Unspeakable Things(23)

I thought of the symposium, the rumors of torture and alien abduction, how evil Clam had turned, of Evie coloring her playtime posters. I’m not going to let them steal my childhood. I didn’t want his eyes on me, but I needed to know the truth. “Sergeant Bauer, why is there a curfew?”

Dad glared at me.

Sephie huddled closer, but I wasn’t going to back down. I studied my own reflection in Sergeant Bauer’s mirrored sunglasses. I was gnat-size and upside down, me and Sephie two lollipop heads blocking the sunlight from reflecting a perfect circle in each.

Bauer finally spoke. “Nothing too serious. No need for kids to be running around getting in trouble is all.” He turned his face toward Dad. “Keep an eye on your girls, hear?”

Dad saluted him, two stiff fingers tapping his forehead.

If you were across the parking lot, you would have missed the look Dad and Sergeant Bauer passed each other right then, a quick smirk from one man to the other. They shared a secret, the two of them, something coiled and wet. Seeing it made me want to tug on a sweater even though the sun was shining down like a lava ball.

“I best be off,” Sergeant Bauer said, rumbling his car to life. “Looks like I’ll be seeing you girls Saturday!”

Sephie, ever polite, said, “Sounds good.”

I glowered.

Dad slapped the top of the cruiser and stepped back so Sergeant Bauer could drive away. When he pulled out of the parking lot, Dad threw his arm around Sephie. “That’s how you do it, honey. If the police are at the party, they won’t bust it, right?”

Sephie beamed up at him. “Makes sense.”

I was simultaneously disgusted and jealous. I hated it when she played up to Dad like that, but I had to admit, there were perks to being his favorite. I followed them into the liquor store, Dad’s arm still around Seph. I was running through ways I could butter him up while weighing if it was worth it, so lost in thought that I didn’t see the man tramping around the whiskey aisle until I collided with him.

“Sorry!” The word shot out my mouth at the same time my skin shivered like I had to pee.

I was standing face-to-face with Goblin.

Every rumor I’d ever heard about him rushed at me like a wave as I sucked in and held my breath out of habit. He tortures animals. He worships Satan. He eats fingers. When he tastes blood, he goes berserk and turns into a demon. He used to be a football star until he got in a terrible car accident that took off the top of his head, which is why he always wears a hat. He sits alone at home and rocks in a chair, only leaving his trailer to buy food and beer.

Goblin’s feed cap was pulled tight to his ears, his hollow eyes shaded under its brim. He had a wormy tattoo, like the “Don’t Tread on Me” snake. Its head licked out of his collar, then showed up again coiling around his arm. I wondered what it looked like under his shirt, where it ended. He was bulky and barrel-chested but not overweight.

I’d never stood this close to him before.

I realized that he didn’t smell like sour old man but rather like my dad first thing in the morning, before he had a chance to shower. It embarrassed me to know that about Goblin. I found myself laughing, but I swallowed it quick. It didn’t stay down, rising as a burp, full of black oil and stink.

That’s when I realized I was still holding my breath. I let it out in a whoosh.

“Excuse me,” I said, caught in Goblin’s stare. He was glaring at me.

“Cassie, stand behind me.” Dad squeezed my shoulder, and for the first time in my life, I welcomed his touch. It flushed me with a gratitude so strong I momentarily mistook it for anger.

“Of course, Father.” My words were formal, weird, but we were on a large stage, acting out a play that none of us had rehearsed. My father felt it. So did Goblin.

They stared at each other, neither backing down, their hackles raised. We were country neighbors, with Goblin’s house one of the nearest, but Mom and Dad never talked about him or any of the other people who lived around us, except that Gomez family who had moved into the old Swenson place. It was best to keep to yourself, Dad said, but he clearly knew Goblin, the way they were punching each other with their eyes.

Goblin kept switching his weight from one leg to the other, making a soft, repetitive sound in the back of his throat, a nervous tic, like cuk-cuk-cuk. Something about my dad made him terribly uncomfortable.

Goblin broke first. “You seen my dog?” he sputtered.

Dad waited a beat before answering. He wanted Goblin to know he was in charge. “You should keep that thing tied up. It chases cars.”

“I asked you seen it?”

“No.”

Goblin seemed to chew on this, separating seed from shell before spitting the whole works out. He pushed past Dad, jostling him, but Dad kept solid on his feet, watching Goblin march out empty-handed.

“Both of you, never go to his house. His dog is a mangy thing,” Dad said, talking to us though his eyes stayed on Goblin. “I’d as soon shoot the bastard as bring him back.”

He squeezed my shoulder once more, but this time was different. He was testing me, seeing if I intended to finally join his team, and the possessiveness in his eyes when he looked my way confirmed it.

“I’m talking about the man, not the dog,” he said.





CHAPTER 14

Supper was almost festive. Dad had recovered from the strangeness with Goblin, and he was on. He told Mom about rescuing me from school, and the way he spun it, we were almost Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Besides springing his youngest, he’d gotten everything on Mom’s list for the party, he said, and he’d saved her money by using coupons.