October 22, 3 p.m. Year of the Curtain+5
New York, New York
Alex was not particularly concerned when Adam and Brady didn’t show up at school the day after his most recent beating. It wasn’t unusual for them to take a well-deserved day off after beating the crap out of him, and even if it had been, why should he care if those assholes skipped a day of school? One less day he had to fear for his life, at least until he left.
He wasn’t worried when they didn’t accost him on the way home, either – he was just happy about it. His father knew at a glance that he’d been in another fight, but he didn’t press the issue. Alex had realized some time ago his father either didn’t know what to say about such things or didn’t care enough to pursue the topic. Whatever.
The next morning, though, he was fully expecting to get pummeled again as soon as he was out of sight of his building, and again, no Adam or Brady. Still not complaining, but he was starting to think it was unusual. He walked to school unmolested, a sensation he’d actually forgotten, and went through a full half of the day without feeling like he had a target on his back.
It felt great.
It felt so good, in fact, that he had to work to conceal his joy a little later, when Ms. Ericson came into class after lunch. He wasn’t used to enjoying French class – he had it with both Adam and Brody, but they were still nowhere to be seen. Ms. Ericson looked upset, though, with bags under her eyes and a pair of glossy lines down her cheeks that could only have been the telltale marks of tears.
“I have some disturbing news,” she said. “I’ve just received word that two of your classmates… Adam Rodrigue and Brady Franks… they’ve been found…”
She was choking up now, unable to finish her sentence, but she didn’t really need to. Middle school kids were smart enough to piece this one together. As she broke down into sobs, the whispers began. “Found? Dead? What do you think happened? Where have they been? Who did they finally piss off?”
Alex just sat there, listening, unable to join in on the conversation because he didn’t actually know what to say. “Serves them right,” didn’t seem appropriate, considering the fact that several of his classmates looked like they were about to join Ms. Ericson in her tears. But he wasn’t sorry. He was jubilant. No more Adam Rodrigue? No more Brady Franks? Sure, Adam had a few goons left walking around school, but without their leader not a one of them had enough ambition to so much as tie Alex’s shoelaces together.
As he left school it was all anybody could talk about, and he supposed he couldn’t blame them. It was big news. He was struck by how many of them came off like total hypocrites, though – “Oh, it’s so sad! Oh, I’m going to miss them so much!” Pretty words like these were spilling from the mouths of people he knew full well Alex and his posse had all but tortured at some point or another, or from girls who had constantly turned their noses up at the thugs (rightfully so, but still, be honest). So many of them, so full of it.
As Adam walked home, he wandered past the antique store – the window of which, he noticed, was boarded up now — and cast a glance towards the coal chute. He wouldn’t need that hiding place again, would he? And it was probably for the best, too – it looked like the metal door to the chute was actually bent.
The metal was bent… and there was a streak of something on the frame.
Adam looked around, trying to see if anyone else noticed, but what were the odds of that? People around here never noticed anything. He crept in towards the chute, looking at the metal, and realized it had been punched outwards. The edges of the brick were chipped, too, as though something had tried to push its way through. And the streak on the frame was red.
No way, he thought. No. Way.
Casting one last glance to assure his privacy, he slipped down the chute. He rolled to the floor and looked up at where the Golem had been standing, right underneath, but it was no longer there. The chute was broken and the wall here had suffered even more damage. Something huge had been trying to get out.
“No way,” he said, out loud this time. There were scrapes on the floor, too, leading away from the chute, as if whatever had caused the damage had decided it was too big for that particular route. The scrapes led across the floor and straight to—
He jumped when it saw it. The Golem was there, on the opposite wall now, at the bottom of the staircase that led up into the antique store. The scrapes on the ground went right up to the stairs, and there was a second set of scrapes leading from the stairs to where the Golem now stood. Several of the wooden steps were cracked now, or even bowed, having held more weight than they were designed for.
Even in the dark, he could tell that something was different about the Golem. His creepy statue was now covered in dark spatters, and its hands were so coated in the stuff that it could have been wearing gloves. It was dark down here, but he bet that if he had a light to turn on, those gloves would be dark red.
No. Way.
He looked up into the face of the stone giant, and he began to laugh.
