The Boy Who Became the Wendigo

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But the school nurse had taken the opportunity to ask him about his home life since mama's passing. Critter hated those kinds of questions. He didn't like having to lie, so he always found his safest bet was to just stay quiet. Grownups didn't like that. The nurse had given him a peppermint candy when he stood up to return to class, whispering, Don't go telling no one. I know it ain't good for your teeth, but sometimes we all need a bit of sweetness. Hey, Critter. Critter had stowed the hard candy in his jeans pocket, and now he pulled it out, untwisted the plastic wrapping, and held it up to his nostrils. But it was no use. The day's injury had left his nose too swollen and congested to smell anything. Sighing, he lowered his hand and looked around as he walked on. The wintry woods were dim and gray. Snow lay upon the ground, but little daylight pierced the lofty canopy of pine branches, leaving his surroundings cloaked in frigid shadow. Critter slowed. These few minutes it took him to walk from the mailbox to the house was the only time of day when he was allowed to be alone. If he carried on too long, there might be questions and accusations. So he had been trying to add a few seconds to the journey each day in the hopes of gradually increasing the expected moment of his arrival. His stomach growled, though he wasn't as hungry as usual. He had eaten tater tot casserole for lunch and drank a carton of chocolate milk afterward. Looking down at the peppermint in his hand, he glanced around the forest again, wondering what animal might enjoy it. A raven might fly down to snatch it up or a grouse if he left it on the ground. Maybe a squirrel would be curious and add the candy to its store of nuts. Or if the peppermint were still there when the sun went down, a raccoon might discover it or even a fox. Excited by this prospect, Critter jogged off the driveway, located a stump some 15 feet into the woods and clearing away the snow with the sleeve of his coat, set down the little candy. As he walked back, he became suddenly afraid that Uncle Jimbo or one of his cronies would notice the tracks and be upset. Returning to the stump, he hid the candy amongst its chilly roots instead. Then he unzipped and peed beside the stump. That way, if anyone mentioned the footprints, he had an excuse. Feeling confident about his little mission, Critter accepted that he really did have to get home, and so, running back, he hurried up the last stretch of winding driveway. The criminal compound of Jimbo Boone occupied the abandoned structures of an old logging camp in the heart of the woods. A high chain link fence topped with barbed wire surrounded the compound, and as Critter came up to the gate and was allowed inside by a shotgun-wielding crony, he was momentarily glad that his sense of smell was hindered. He always hated coming through the gate, for on the other side, the sweet scent of pine trees was overwhelmed by the odors of the old sawmill, which coughed out a steady cloud of chemical smoke that smelled like cat piss, burned plastic, and rotten eggs. Critter approached the place he was forced to call home. It was once the cabin of the logging camp's foreman, but Uncle Jimbo had converted it into a ramshackle fortress of plywood, corrugated steel and barbed wire, and added a rickety porch and a rusty mobile home on either side. Two more men with shotguns sat on the porch, chuckling as Critter passed by them and entered the front door. His cousin, Peanut, was on the couch in the living room, smoking a cigarette while she watched some educational program about spooky native legends on the TV. Hey, Critter! said Peanut, turning down the TV's volume. Critter shyly waved hello. Peanut was sixteen, but she was tiny for her age, except for her very pregnant stomach, which shone tight and pale beneath her pajama shirt, which was much too small to cover the baby bump. You coming back from school then? Why, you still go to school, Critter? I quit when I was twelve. My daddy tells the government lady I'm home schooled now. I'm a real ass adult! Critter shrugged. He was trying to keep his gaze from moving to the far corner of the living room, where Uncle Jimbo's girlfriend was currently passed out on an armchair. That was the chair where Critter's mother had died. He didn't want to look at it any more than he wanted to talk about it, or think about it, or remember it. He turned to walk to the bedroom he shared with another cousin. One voices from the porch outside startled him. Critter ducked and moved faster, but just as he turned into the hall, he heard the front door burst open and Uncle Jimbo's voice sounded, like a venomous vibration cutting through the haze of tobacco in the air. Hey now, where do you think you're running off to, sissy boy? Come back, come back and give your Uncle Jimbo a kiss. Critter froze, clasping his eyes shut. Then slowly, he turned around and looked across the room at his uncle. Uncle Jimbo was not tall or muscular. He had no scars, no prison tattoos. He wore a simple flannel jacket, the shoulders dusted with snow, and reaching up with one hand, he scratched at his cheek, which was always shaved close. But the man's eyes, his stench, and the breath that issues from his rotten mouth. Combined, they could scare off a black bear from ten miles away. Goodness me, look at your nose. What a bloody mess. Tell me boy, did you return the favor? Did you strike back like a proper boon? Or did you not have the stomach for that? Did you cower instead and piss your britches? Hmm? Critter didn't answer. Uncle Jimbo sighed. I understand. I know the root of your inadequacy. Your dear mother, it's her fault. My deluded whore of a big sister brought you up soft. She probably fed you at her tits till you were about ten. So very unnatural. You still slept in her bed, did you not? Critter didn't answer. Uncle Jimbo blinked and cracked a smile. Would she tell you all those little stories of hers? I bet she did. Always had her head in a story. Easier than facing the real world, I guess. Beanstalks and glass slippers. Noble knights hunting dragons to save a princess in a tower. Evil. Brought down by a most righteous hero. Or she just loved that fairy tale shit, my sister. Oh, leave him be, daddy. Said Peanut from the couch, blowing smoke at the ceiling. He ain't done nothin'. Uncle Jimbo continued to stare at Critter. The man's eyes were small and red and wet. Always red and wet, as if perpetually infected. Through the open front door, one of the men on the porch cleared his throat and asked, Er, we goin' huntin' or not, Jimbo. Cause the sun's goin' down, just sayin'. Uncle Jimbo nodded slowly. Yes, Bubba. But my baby girl here is correct. Critter, sissy boy, ain't doin' nothin'. So, would you care to join us on the hunt this evening? You love the animals of the forest, don't you, boy? That's why they call you Critter. Perhaps you could help us track. Word is, there's a big ol' buck out at about this season. Sixteen pointer, they're saying. Quite the prize. He don't want go huntin' with you, daddy. Uncle Jimbo's small eyes narrowed, and the tip of his tongue emerged from his mouth to slide along his bottom lip, revealing a row of liquorish black teeth inside. Go on, then. Run along to bed. Think of your mama and tend to your wounds, oh brave little knight. When the men had departed, taking their shotguns with them into the darkening woods, Critter exhaled, rushing to his cramped bedroom. He threw himself onto the mattress on the floor, and still wearing his shoes and his backpack, hugged his knees to his chest, and curled up as tight as he could. The next day at school, Critter reached the front of the lunch line and held up his tray. No, not you! growled an aproned matron behind the counter. Your accounts in the red. No money, no meal. Critter swallowed, then stretched up on his tiptoes to look around the school kitchen. Don't bother lookin'. She ain't here. She got fired for handing out freebies. This ain't a charity. It's your mama's fault. Tell her to pay up. Critter lowered himself, shoulders slouching. But a girl in line ahead of him cleared her throat and said, Uh, his mother actually died like two weeks ago. Critter looked down at his sneakers. He didn't want to talk about this. In line behind him, a few boys chuckled. Yeah, put she OD'd like a bitch! said one of the boys. So, you know, it's still her fault. As the boys' friends snickered, Critter glanced over at them. The boy winked at Critter and added under his breath. Has the nose dipped shit. Critter stumbled as the boys marched forward, shoving him from the line. Then setting their trays on the counter to receive lukewarm rectangles of pizza and scoops of soggy broccoli drowned in very orange cheese sauce. The girl who stood up for him waited a few seconds, looking awkwardly from Critter to her own lunch to the friends calling to her from a nearby table, trying to decide what to do. Critter saved her the trouble by rushing off. He returned the tray to its stack, then jogged down the hall and into the boys' bathroom, where he slipped into an empty stall to wait until the bell rang. A thoughtfully built wardrobe really comes down to pieces that mix well, last, and don't make you feel like you overpaid. 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I'm not an astronaut. Two worlds, one impossible mission. So I met an alien. Project Hill Mary. You are bravest human I have ever met. His joke, I only meet one human, and is you. In cinemas everywhere March 19. When he hopped down from the school bus that afternoon, a wind-swept flurry of small icy snowflakes bit at his cheeks and stung his eyes. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and trudged down the driveway, nearly slipping twice. Coming up to the spot where he had left the driveway the day before, he slowed, heart-twittering with anticipation. He was quite hungry, but as much as he might enjoy finding yesterday's peppermint candy still in place by the stump and popping it into his mouth, he was more excited by the thought that some other animal had discovered and enjoyed the snack. The thought of a happy squirrel or a furry raccoon sleeping soundly in its winter burrow with paws upon his mint-filled belly made him smile. Glancing left and right to make sure no one was around, he slid down from the driveway, moved through the pine trees to the stump, and crouched. The peppermint candy was gone, and where it had been, claw marks had been scratched into the stump. He squinted at the scratches, trying to guess what creature might have made them. They were far too big for a raccoon, too big for a bobcat even, a black bear maybe, but looking around on the ground, he didn't see any tracks. Odd, the fresh snow now falling wasn't deep enough to cover any prints from last night. Critters straightened up, blinking down at the claw marks, then let his gaze wander around the haunted shadows of the forest. The branches of pine, spruce, and fir trees moved in a subtle dance in the breeze. Their needles iced and dangly, their slender trunks bending ever so slightly, releasing eerie notes of wooden creeks and squeaks and groans. Critters' stomach growled beneath his coat, sighing. He turned to go back to the driveway. When, from the corner of his vision, he saw a dark shape whisk behind a tree trunk. He spun around, staring at the spot, but there was nothing. Holding his breath, Critter inched backward, shoes crunching in the snow, gaze fixed at the tree. Something was hiding behind it, moving very slowly. He could just make out the edge of its body on one side, and something else above it, moving in the tree, or was that just another branch? Strange. Critter went still. The creature went still too. He waited. After a few seconds, a clawed hand appeared from around the trunk, ripping at the bark. Critter swallowed, blinked, and trying to be as brave and stay as quiet as he could, he walked forward to the tree stump. Planting one foot firmly on the stump, he pulled himself to stand atop it, and raised a bare hand into the air. From around the tree trunk, one dark antler came into view, and then another, and then a face, red and angular, cloaked in shadow, but with eyes like pinpricks of red light. Critter's mouth fell open, and his own eyes widened in shock, but he collected himself, and still holding up his hand, he waved slowly, shyly, then beckoned with his hand for the creature to come out. It did, creeping fully into view, moving on all fours, then slinking forward through the shadows, hunched and silent as a spider. Critter couldn't take his eyes off it. It had antlers like a deer, many pointed, splayed, and sharp, and the shape of its head was, well, almost like a deer, or else, like a deer's skull. Long and tapered, with gaping nostrils, and the edges of many yellow teeth just visible on either side of its bony jaws, and those eyes, those two tiny points of light glowing from the depths of its eye sockets. Its body was more or less like a human, only stretched and gaunt, like skin had been drawn tight atop the bones, skin the ruddy brown color of dried blood. Its fingers and toes were long and splayed, with claws on every digit, as it moved toward him, so quiet, so graceful. He saw that it stayed atop the snow, not even its claws pierced the surface as it approached him. Critter lowered his hand, and though his whole body was shaking and his teeth chattered, his lips curled into a soft smile as the creature reached the tree stump. It straightened up, its hunched spine unfurling, until it stood above him, ten feet tall, from the claws of its feet to the tips of its antlers, but so spindly and thin, like a ravenous insect. And it gazed down upon the boy, its skull-like face tilted, curiously. Critter could feel the red light from its eyes warming up the air around him, and he could smell its breath, which emanated from its jaws and nostrils in soft, wheezing hisses. The breath was sweet and herbal, like peppermint, raising a skeletal arm. It extended one razor-sharp claw, and ever so gently poked at Critter's chest, just over his heart. Peanut was napping on the sofa when Critter entered the living room, shutting the door behind him. His hands were still shaking, so he pushed them deep into his pockets. From the corner of the room, a woman groaned. Critter looked over. It was Uncle Jimbo's girlfriend, whom everyone called Blondie. Oh, you, hi. Food, said Blondie. And she pointed at the coffee table, where a greasy fast-food bag lay atop cigarette butts, crampled bits of burned foil, and a cloudy glass pipe. Critter's stomach lurched and grumbled, so loud that Peanut jerked awake on the couch, then settled back against the cushions. Critter walked to the table and pulled open the paper bag, lying at the bottom where some napkins and three soggy french fries. Signed, he pulled out the three fries and put them in his mouth. They were cold and mush and hard to swallow. Good, said Blondie, blinking groggily. Boy. Then she winced, clapping a hand to her head and rising shakily to her feet. Critter backed up to let Blondie totter past him and down the hall, to the bathroom. On the couch, Peanut yawned and sitting up, rubbed her baby bump with one hand. Oh, hi, Critter. She said, smiling softly. We have burgers. I hope they saved you one. I told them to. Critter glanced back down into the empty bag, then nodded. You want to grab a pop and watch some TV? Critter shook his head. He went to his bedroom. He wished he could close the bedroom door, but there wasn't one. Just an empty door frame and holes in the wood where hinges must once have been. Sitting on the edge of his mattress, he stared at the wall, his belly twitching as his stomach tried to digest the three fries he had eaten. The sensation was... strange. It felt like someone else's stomach was moving around in Critter's abdomen, annoyed by the unsatisfactory nature of the scant meal. His guts groaned again, louder than before, like a whining animal. And he felt sweat break out across his cheeks, despite the chill in the room. From down the hall, he heard the TV click back on and cartoony voices laughing from the speakers. Maybe he would sit with Peanut, just to distract himself, to have something to fill the hours until he could sleep. Only Uncle Jimbo would be back soon and come through the front door, and Critter was always safer back here in the bedroom when that happened. He heard banging outside and shouting. Standing and walking to the window, Critter pulled himself up onto the radiator to peer outside. His room faced the old logging mill, belching its noxious fumes. And he saw Uncle Jimbo marching out of the structure, holding a glass tray in his hands, with three men in tow. The first two were Uncle Jimbo's top cronies, Bubba and the Jester. Bubba was tall and thin and wiry, like a scarecrow, and held a sawed-off shotgun at his side. The Jester was big and round and bald, like a hairless bear in overalls. And he was currently dragging the third man across the muddy snow. This third man, dressed only in blue jeans and a bandana tied around his neck, was crying out for mercy and clawing at the ground. As Critter watched, Uncle Jimbo stopped and turned, holding up the glass tray. The Jester thrust the crying man at the boss's feet. I'm sorry, Jimbo. The man in the snow sobbed. It must have been an issue at the temp gauge. It's old as hell. I didn't know the stuff was burning. Your job, young man, said Uncle Jimbo, his voice muffled by the window. Is to know. And my job is to ensure that our product maintains a certain standard of quality. And this? He tilted the tray, and dark brown sludge slopped out and covered the weeping meth cook. Is. Shit. Just like you. Uncle Jimbo turned to Bubba, handed him the empty glass tray, then reaching under his own coat, he pulled out a revolver. Oh, God! Screamed the cook, and then... Kaboom! At the top of his head exploded into slimy red bits, and his body flopped onto the ground. Uncle Jimbo lowered his smoking revolver, sighing. He looked to the Jester. Well, find us another cook. Oh, and see to it that we replaced the temperature gauge. He was right. It's been on the fritz for a while. Critter's gaze moved down to the body in the snow. The man's skull was blasted open at the top, and as he squinted at the sight, something dark and wet slipped loose and rolled out, plopping lightly into the bloody slush below. That must be the brain. Critter swallowed, feeling his belly tense and turn within him. His mouth became moist, and his hands balled themselves into fists. Baba and the Jester dragged the corpse away. Critter watched it sliding across the ground, limbs loose, all that muscle tissue, all that bone marrow, and bare belly and chest pale in the wintry light. The man didn't have much found on him, but there were organs within, liver, heart, kidneys, and left behind to chill in the snow. The brain. Critter licked his lips, his skin now tingly with anxious excitement, and in the depths of his eyes, a soft red light shone, casting ghostly rings upon the glass as his mouth stretched into a minty smile. That night, Critter dreamed he was buckled in the backseat of a car, eating an ice cream cone, while his mother drove and sang along to the tunes on the radio. It was a good dream, but it made him sad, because he knew it wouldn't last. And sure enough, looking forward at the windshield, he watched as a deer with mighty antlers and dark eyes walked confidently into the street. Critter didn't say anything, and Mama didn't see the deer, until they crashed into it. So, really, it was all her fault. Then the windshield burst like glass confetti, and antlers pierced Mama's cheeks and eyes and neck and chest. And instead of blood, gray smoke coiled from the wounds, pungent and sour. And then the car swerved and bounced and rolled, tearing itself to jagged pieces all around him. Then he woke up. Critter lay on his mattress, blinking at the ceiling. Then he sat up and stretched. He felt… hungry. But that was okay. It was almost time for school, where a meal was waiting for him. He didn't bother standing in line at lunch. He just found an empty spot in the corner and sat, leaning forward on his elbows, his eyes fixed across the cafeteria, across the counter, where the old lunch lady was scooping sloppy joe filling onto shriveled buns. After a few minutes, the woman noticed Critter watching her and scowled. He didn't move. He just sat, waiting for her to break eye contact, which she eventually did. Shaking her head in irritation and turning to yell at a boy trying to sneak away without paying for a carton of chocolate milk. Critter's tummy rumbled, and he sucked in a breath through his nostrils. The swelling in his nose was down. He could smell again. The sickly tartness of the sloppy joes on the trays around him, and even from this distance, the cheap gas station perfume that the lunch lady had sprayed upon herself that morning. His brain recorded the scent, each synthetic chemical compound, stowing the knowledge away in a new corner of his mind. When the afternoon bell rang and the students poured from the back doors of the school and piled onto the buses, Critter snuck from the line, heading instead to the faculty parking lot. A winter storm was on its way, and a biting wind held. He followed his senses, or rather, the new senses, which had taken root in his sinus cavity, just behind his eyes. Like a lighthouse on some high outcropping of a stony shore, the smell of that cheap perfume led the boy, like a ship on a stormy sea, on a straight course to his destination. He spotted the lunch lady, still in her apron, though she now wore a threadbare tweed coat over it, and had her purse strung over one shoulder. She was standing outside the driver's side door of her rusty car. She was trying to light a cigarette, but the lighter wasn't working. Over and over again, she flicked at the little wheel, grumbling to herself as the lighter sparked in the cold air. Critter came up behind her, moving slowly. He tried to be silent, but his breath gave him away. It came from his nose and excited snorts, puffing out into little frosty clouds. The lunch lady froze. She lowered the lighter and turned the unlit cigarette dangling in her mouth. What is...you? She blinked down at him, then rolled her eyes and began to ruffle through her purse in search of her car keys. What do you want, kid? I don't got time for... Critter lunged, dipping his head to drive himself forward into her chest. He felt himself jerk to a stop a foot before he reached her, and heard the slicing and thudding of sharp objects piercing through cloth and skin and wet tissue, reaching up with one shaking hand. Critter felt at the top of his head, where two antlers now grew and branched and now stuck fast into the lunch lady's chest. She gasped, a hollow sound. Critter pulled back, yanking his antlers free, and she slumped sideways, grabbing onto her car's side view mirror. The mirror snapped free with a crunch of metal, and she fell into the snow. Critter moved to stand over her, staring down into her pale face. Then his gaze moved lower, onto her shredded tweed coat, all dark with blood. Lowering himself to one knee, he opened his mouth, wide, wider, wider, his lips stretching taut, stretching impossibly wide in a circle as something long and riddle forced itself up from his throat, across his tongue, then scraping between his upper and lower teeth, reached out into the windy air. From the bloody snow below him, the lunch lady gazed up in horror, then winced as hot drool dripped from the elongated jaws of the skeletal beast, a second mouth extended from Critter's open jaws. Critter's eyes burned, and the deadly rack above his head shone dark against the falling snow. Then his head whipped forward and he fell upon her, beastly jaws snapping, fighting, ripping out mouthfuls of meat and bone and organ from her chest. He chewed rapidly, swallowing great wet chunks so that his throat swelled and rippled, forcing down the meal, every scrap of the woman's shriveled muscles, stringy sinews, clumps of her hair, even her clothes and buttons and the aluminum buckle on her apron strap, even the coins and her purse. After all, no money, no meal. His school bus was just pulling out of the lot when Critter dashed suddenly in front of it. The driver cursed and slammed on the brakes, but in the icy conditions, the wheels locked up and the bus didn't stop until a few inches from the boy's face. What in the name of all hell? yelled the driver. Was that Mr. Boone? Critter didn't answer, but he climbed into the bus, wiping at his lips with a back of one hand. The students inside stared at him, some curious, some annoyed. From the back, the bullies were grumbling, snickering, and when he looked back at them, they grinned wickedly, one going so far as to raise a finger and slash it across his own throat with a wink. Much to the bully's surprise, Critter winked back. And as the driver pulled forward again, the bus rocking slightly in the growing wind, Critter walked confidently to the back of the bus and to the boys who were waiting to pummel him, his mouth watering. He was still hungry. 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But Critter headed straight for the house. On the porch, wrapped in blankets and squinting through the wind, sat slender Bubba and the corpulent Jester. Shotguns laid across their laps. Critter approached, grinning as, from the dome of his head, twisted horns of midnight black sprouted and spread wide. Bubba just sat there, blinking stupidly. But the jester screamed and staggered upright, knocking over his chair and throwing off his blanket as he raised the shotgun. Critter ducked and sprang forward on all fours, claws unfurling from his hands and from his feet, which shredded his sneakers to tatters. And stabbing down through the snow into the hard soil, he gripped the earth and pounced off from it, flinging himself forward and upward, smashing through the porch railing and flying at the jester. His antlers whipped aside the shotgun's barrel. The gun fired into the porch roof. Then he drove his front claws into the jester's ample torso as he tackled him backward against the side of the house. The walls shook and the jester screamed and beside them, Bubba finally came to his senses and tried to turn and run. Critter kicked out one leg, snatching the fleeing villain with the claws on that foot, then slammed him down into the porch with a crunch of snapping boards and crunching bones. Turning back to the jester, Critter opened his human mouth, extended his beastly jaws, then rammed himself forward. An antler pierced the jester's cheek and came out the back of his bald head as Critter's jaws cracked through the man's chest, bit down hard upon his heart and tore it from the body, heartary stretching and snapping free like little broken hoses. He could still feel the heart beating weakly as he swallowed it whole. From the windy air, a voice called out, Bullets aren't exactly free, you know, who is shooting and... What's that? I... I... Yanking his head back so that the jester fell in a bloody heap onto the porch, Critter looked over through the snow. Halfway between the house and the sawmill stood dear Uncle Jimbo. One hand held up to block his watery eyes from the wind, the other reaching slowly under his coat to the revolver at his belt. Critter growled. His uncle drew the gun and fired. Critter jumped sideways off the porch, the bullet whistling past him. He landed in a slide, then gripped his claws in the ground to pounce forward. But Uncle Jimbo ran to meet him, shooting again. Critter rolled to the side, hissing as the bullet struck his left antler and burst off one branching section. Whining, he rushed into the shadow of a fir tree and crouched. Two more bullets flew, one hitting the tree's trunk, the other a branch. Eyes narrowed. Critter stared through the icy pine needles, watching as his uncle moved around the front of the house. Shooting again, Uncle Jimbo scurried up the porch steps, reached the front door and fired his revolver's last shot into the air. Critter lunged forward, bursting through the icy branches of the pine and charging on all fours across the snow, claws striking down again and again in a vicious gallop. Uncle Jimbo flung open the front door, jumped into the house and was just slamming the door closed. When Critter reached the porch and launched himself up, arms spread, jaws open. The door shattered under the boy's beastly onslaught and behind it, Uncle Jimbo went down with a grunt and a gasp. I see snow and splinters of wood raining down around him. Critter landed on top of him, claws digging into his uncle's shoulders, stabbing through to pin him down against the filthy carpet in the floorboards beneath. Wind howled through the open door and filled the living room, flinging cigarettes and torn pages of magazine and bits of aluminum foil round and round at the ceiling. A woman screamed, Don't hurt him! screamed the warbling voice of Blondie, Don't hurt my Jimbo! And from the corner of his fiery vision, Critter saw the emaciated woman rise from the corner armchair and stagger toward him, snatching up a beer bottle from the table and raising it above her head. Critter turned to face her and yanking out his claws, he swung his right arm at the advancing woman. She was so light that the blow sent her flipping backward into the TV, her head smashing through the screen. Whipping back to look down at his uncle, Critter flexed his fingers in the air, claws clicking together, joints popping, drool dribbled from his inhuman teeth and fell hissing onto the man's chest and neck and face. Uncle Jimbo's small eyes bulged like red glass marbles, so full of fear, and though his mouth was open, the words came out. No words of derision, no vile insults about mama, no honey tongue to requests for little sissy boy to give his uncle a kiss. Critter opened his monstrous jaws wide and then wider, his human face wrinkling back and contorting, every muscle in the transformed body tempting to launch himself down upon this most succulent of dishes when... A hand touched down lightly on his left shoulder. He reacted by instinct, twisting to that side, flicking one hand through the air. There was a slice of claws through flesh, sharp as the cold wind whistling to the busted front door. Critter? Said Pina. What are you? Then she swooned and her eyes rolled down to look at her pregnant stomach. Critter looked down too and saw that the stretch marked skin was torn open and the flesh within was red and glistening like watermelon. Pina blinked. Uh oh. She clapped her hands to her stomach, hard, too hard, and from the center gash came a great gust of watery blood and a slippery pink mass which fell from the wound and hit the carpet with a wet thud. A rubbery cord ran from the fleshy lump up to the young mother above who stood gawking down at the mess at her feet while the tattered skin of her stomach shook, loose, and dripping in the wind. Oh no, said Pina. Oh Critter, look what you've done! Critter stared at the slimy lump on the floor which wriggled its stumpy pink limbs. Then, peeling open its tiny mouth, it vomited out a bit of bubbly slime and released a piercing little cry. Critter's ears rang and his stomach rumbled. Critter wanted to eat it, to chomp his jaws upon its tiny misshapen form, to crunch its little bones, swallow it down, hold its atoms in his fathomless stomach forever. Or else, he wanted to be it, to be small and blind and stupid again, and to be the one who was eaten, the one who was ended, who was ended before its story even begins. Yes, he should eat it. He should kill it now, now! Let it be cursed, cursed a little life, a life like the one he had lived. Critter! Pina wailed, now trying to pull her fetus back up inside her, but the umbilical cord was too slippery and her hands squeaked and couldn't get a hold. Critter! He gasped, sucking in the cold air and sucking in his beastly bony mouth, pulling it back into his throat, closing his sore jaws and his sore lips and biting down his mouth shut. Critter staggered backward, tripping on Uncle Jimbo's legs, wincing at the pain in his head as the antlers suddenly retracted, coiling themselves back into his skull, squeezing in beside his brain. His fingers burned as the claws pulled back into the bones, and the tears in his eyes, they turned into steam from the fire raging in his head. He twisted around, howling like the wind, howling in agony, and threw himself out the front door, tumbling over the bodies on the porch and falling and rolling down the stairs, landing in a heap in the snow outside, gasping for breath. The world was dark. It was so cold. Critter scrambled to his feet again. He began to run blindly into the trees, feet sliding on the icy snow, branches whipping at his hands and face. He ran, and he ran, and he ran until, with a grunt, he felt his shin hit a tree stump, and he fell in a heap. He lay panting in the snow, minutes dripping by. The wind diminished. The wild storm grew lazy and slow, until the only snow in the air was of fat flakes drifting sleepily in the night air. He sat up, rubbing at his shin, then wiped at his eyes. He sniffled. A strange scent was on the air. Sweet end. Minty, turning to squint through the night at the tree trunk he had run into, his gaze fell upon something small and round, tucked amidst its icy roots. Reaching out with the pale, cold hand, Critter Boone plucked up little peppermint candy and held it in his shaking fingers. You're really late, kid! said the man at the gate, swinging it open to let in Critter. Critter said nothing. When he reached the house, he saw the jester sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette, and heard the voices of Uncle Jimbo and some other guys from over at the sawmill. Sighing, Critter trudged up the porch steps and walked inside. The living room smelled like cigarettes and burning plastic. He didn't see Blondie anywhere, but Peanut was in her usual place on the couch, one hand on her bare, swollen belly. She had been laughing at something on the TV, but when he came in and she saw the state of him, Peanut's smile faded. Hey! Oh, Jeepers, creepers, Critter! What happened to you? You've been out in the woods. It's late! Critter sat down his backpack, which was wet and heavy with snow and mud. Oh, dear! said Peanut, and she pulled herself up and came to his side. Are you good? Critter shook his head. And do you want to sit down? Critter sniffed the nodded. Okay, come on then. She led him gently by the elbow, guiding him around the table to the armchair in the corner. He sat, smiling sweetly. Peanut returned to her spot on the couch, but she left the TV off and turned to him. Hey, Critter! Do you maybe want to talk about it? Critter rubbed his palms across the stained fabric of the armchair. Then he looked up and met his cousin's eyes. Okay, he said.