Monster vs. Boy, page 16
Mim kept reading. “He made her strong enough to read at him. To control him.” She felt the tug of her words pull him in. “Until she…”
Until she what? She had wanted to nest near him without any meddling, taking strength from him whenever she needed it, but a tickle from deep inside her said, No, that’s not it.
She let the tickle build until it burst into words, booming into the room. “To make him release her from their bond.” Yes. She sighed all the way to her hooves. That’s it.
“She wants to be free,” Mim’s horrible boy said to the others.
“Doesn’t every creature?” answered the man with the stick.
“How do we do that?” Her horrible boy stepped toward her, then he hesitated. “How do we break the bond?”
“Careful, Dawz!” his grown-up shouted, just as Mim’s left heart felt a surge of want.
Closer, it said. His scales. It wanted her to touch them. Not his smooth skin—it repelled her—but those purple scales! Even more beautiful up close.
She let her hooves take her toward him. Her boy stepped closer too, like her words had lured him in, trapped some deep part of him.
Someone gasped. Mim suspected it was her.
Her urge to touch him overwhelmed her, but that stick was still aimed at her, and she could feel the shouting woman poised to launch an attack at any moment. Still, Mim shoved out a hand, palm first. Her nail-claws had become too long to handle, too sharp, and she needed to feel those scales.
Her boy lifted his chin like he knew what she needed to do. Like he wanted her to do it.
“Dawz, don’t!” The boy’s grown-up lunged forward.
The shouting woman held him back. “Do you have a clear shot, Ronny?”
“Don’t hit Dawz!” the grown-up yelled.
“He’s clear.” The man’s stick made a loud bang.
Something larger than a bee pinged off Mim’s shoulder, but she ignored it. As she touched her palm to her boy’s scales, a spark ignited in her left heart. It traveled down her outstretched arm. It zinged out her palm. It flared between her and her boy, brighter than a sunbeam, but a purple one, before passing into him through his scales.
He convulsed in waves. Her left heart exploded out.
Then Mim felt herself shrink.
Chapter 35
A dart from Ronny’s stun gun zipped above Dawz just as the monster touched him.
Ping—the dart deflected off the monster’s scaly shoulder.
Smack—it lodged in a cupboard door.
Wham—the monster’s touch sparked his cheek.
Burst into his head.
Surged through his chest.
Bounced against his ribs.
Flowered in his heart like a bud finally bursting into leaf but with such fury that it tore itself open.
“Ahh!” He clutched his chest, then his head, not sure which hurt worse. His legs buckled.
“Dawz!” Pop dove around the monster, who stumbled backward, magically shrinking.
Dawz felt Pop catch him as he fell. He heard Atlas and Jayla cry out. Then the spark shook loose a long-forgotten memory—one that erupted with full force, escaping like smoke from a shattered jar.
* * *
—
He was standing. In a kitchen. In Mom’s small apartment in the big city. Gray smoke billowed from a pot on the stove. Flames and ash too. The fire alarm on the ceiling blared.
He was screaming, “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom!” His throat was raw. He was unable to speak any other words.
Mom was ignoring him with her back to the stove, gazing out the window above the sink, watching the sky like something might come at her. The tap running. Her hands motionless in the stream of water. And he hated her then, for the fire, for not putting it out. For her every sour mood, for her vacant eyes.
He pulled at her arm until her head swiveled toward him, her eyes blinking, then finally focusing on him, on the smoke, on the flaming pot.
When she moved at last, she stumbled toward the stove in slow motion, grabbed the pot by its handle, and threw it into the sink under the stream of water.
The flames sizzled out as a churning mass of smoke filled the kitchen. It sucked the air from Dawz’s chest to replace it with ash. Shrouded Mom in plumes of smoke like she might be going, going, gone from him, and Dawz wanted her gone then.
If only he and Jayla could escape to their uncle, Pop, who fed them cookies as big as his hand. If only he could banish Mom from their lives.
But what kind of kid wanted to banish his own mother?
Only a monster would wish that.
He fell to his knees on the kitchen tiles, gagging and coughing. His lungs ached for clean, clear air. The ash in his chest beat like a living thing, threatening to consume him.
Down the hall, baby Jayla singsonged from her room, calling to get out of her crib. He wanted to help her, but the choking smoke…
He collapsed to the floor, suddenly under the smoke beside Mom’s slippered feet. He pulled her down too, then they were crawling toward Jayla’s voice.
* * *
—
Bam! A jolt ripped through Dawz’s heart, and he gasped. As if his heart had restarted. As if it had been only half-there. As if he’d been half-feeling, half-hiding for years.
“Dawz! Talk to me!”
He was back in Pop’s kitchen. In Pop’s arms. Surrounded by a circle of worried faces—Pop, with Atlas and Jayla close behind, and then the others too—and he was surprised they could care so much about the monster he’d become. The monster he’d always been.
Dawz’s chest throbbed as he gulped in sweet, fresh air. His head pulsed as the memories kept coming, whether he wanted them or not. Nightmares of smoke and ash that he couldn’t escape. Haunting him, night after night, and following him when he moved into Pop’s house. Each time, the ash invaded his chest, slowed his heartbeat, fed off him. He clawed at the smoke, but it whirled relentlessly. He tried to tear the ash from his chest, but how could he when he couldn’t breathe?
Then, one terrible night, the dream overtook him. He became the smoke, and it became him. No separation, just a hurricane of ash consuming everything in its path. He yelled, “Nononononononono!” He woke from the nightmare in his attic room, clawing at the smoke and ash that felt real and hollering, “Go away, go away!”
And it had.
It had stepped out of his chest, out of his dream.
It had billowed into a monstrous shape.
It had slinked across his room.
It had stolen into his closet.
It had hidden there for years, tormenting him with strange nighttime noises.
* * *
—
Or had Dawz been tormenting it? Keeping it locked in, guarding it from the world, wanting it to dwell in shadows and dust forever.
Mim. He suddenly remembered the monster’s name. As she’d slinked across his room, he’d forgotten who he was banishing—his mother or the smoke or both—and he’d yelled, “Go away, Mom!” The monster had hesitated in his closet doorway. She’d called out her name. Mim.
Jayla had been right all along. The monster was a she.
And she’d named herself after his mom.
Dawz jerked upright. “Where is she?”
“Dawz!” Jayla gave him a hug.
Atlas let out a low grunt that meant Don’t scare me like that. Even though Dawz had infected Thea. Even though Dawz was part monster.
“Are you okay?” Pop brushed Dawz’s hair away from his eyes.
He wasn’t, but he hadn’t been okay for a long time. Yet as he gazed into the faces around him, he felt how much they cared. About him. No matter how many scales he grew. No matter who he’d infected.
“Where is she?” he repeated. “The monster?”
“You called her a she!” Jayla sounded triumphant.
He’d created the monster. He’d banished her to his closet. All these years, he’d been afraid of her.
Afraid to admit she was there.
If his family and friends could love a monster, he could try too.
* * *
—
His heart beat stronger, bolder. He got to his knees, desperate to find Mim. To find his monster.
“Slow down.” Pop supported him as he stood.
Jayla linked arms with him.
“By the door.” Atlas pointed.
When Dawz finally saw her, Officer Rashmi was cornering her near the back door, Ronny had his stun gun ready, and Mim was snarling.
“Wait!” he called.
Officer Rashmi and Ronny glanced at him. His monster kept pulling at the knob.
She was so much smaller now. Her claws shrunken into fingernails that looked harmless. Still holding a book. She yanked at the doorknob like she wanted to leave. Only now he didn’t want her to go.
“Stop! Mim!”
“What did you call her?” Atlas asked.
But Dawz ignored him because his monster had stopped. A question locked in her glowing eyes.
“You don’t need to go,” he told her. “Please. Don’t.”
Chapter 36
Mim clutched her precious and powerful book. She’d shrunk so fast that she was still getting used to herself. Her scales and hooves now right-sized. Her fingernails instead of claws. Her one heartbeat. The right one. Her own one. She panted near the back door, hemmed in by the shouting woman and the man with the stick, while the rest of the humans clustered around her boy.
Dawz the Horrible.
He’d called her by name. No one had ever done that before, and it felt strangely pleasant.
She wobbled between him and the door that led to the wide world, feeling a tug from them both.
She wasn’t sure where her left heart had gone, but she felt more herself with each passing moment.
Untethered from her boy.
Free to walk and walk into the wide world—maybe all the way to the edge of it.
Free to find friends and read books far, far away from him.
Glorious freedom that she’d never felt before. That she didn’t know what to do with.
Yet.
* * *
—
She suspected she could once again fit the top of her head under the bottom of a doorknob. But did she want to live in a closet again?
Her just-right scales bristled and rearranged themselves.
She could be a monster who chose where she lived.
A monster who chose what to do with her boy.
* * *
—
Touching her boy’s scales had let more of him flow into her. His nightmare of smoke and ash. His fear so grand, it had sparked her.
And she knew him. She understood. He’d created her—a monster so feared, so impressive that all these humans in this cupboard room had trembled before her.
But maybe she wanted to make her boy do more than tremble.
* * *
—
Mim stared her boy down and he stared back. You don’t need to go, he’d said. Like he could become a friend. Unless he was weaving an elaborate trick that would end with her hurt worse than ever.
She suddenly became aware of how big he was, how big his human friends were. How easily they could crush her now. What good were fingernails when you’d had nail-claws?
But her boy still had scales on his face. Beautiful purple ones that showed she’d left her mark on him. Claimed him. And the other faces seemed…curious. Even the shouting woman and the man with the stick had stepped back.
Mim wasn’t sure what she wanted to happen next, but she knew what she didn’t want.
“No more dust.” Mim glared from her boy’s face to the girl’s. “Or goo balls.” Her eyes found the larger boy.
“Wow!” The girl clapped her hands. “She spoke!”
“Amazing!” the larger boy said. “She’s so amazing!”
They could hear her?
Then Mim realized—every human was staring back at her.
They could see her too!
Perhaps she was more than a piece from the boy’s dream now. Perhaps she was solidly her own.
* * *
—
“I’ve never seen purple scales,” said the man with the stick.
“I’ve never seen a monster.” The boy’s grown-up shook his head.
“A Monster of Extreme Greatness!” The large boy grinned.
Mim flattened her tail. She wanted to scuttle into the night where she could hide. Where she couldn’t be seen by all these human eyes.
But she resisted. She puffed out her chest. She stomped her hooves.
“I need a nest.” Her words felt as certain as right-sized scales. “It should be near a friend.”
Her boy’s smile was cautious.
“Not you.” She growled. “I want to nest near Raar-Sparkle.”
“Who?” He glanced around wordlessly. “You mean…Sparkle…the cat?”
“The fur beast,” she corrected. Her boy had much to learn.
Chapter 37
Everyone who lived in that ramshackle house on the outskirts of town slept well that night. Maybe because they were exhausted. Maybe because the world felt less rocky. More settled.
Together, they had walked a monster named Mim to her chosen site for her new nest in the center of town. They’d made a plan to feed Mim, who had been licking molasses off herself as if she was hungry. Then they’d returned home with Atlas and Thea to clean into the wee hours. Sweeping up broken glass. Scrubbing sticky-sweet stains off furniture, cupboards, and everywhere else the monster bombs had landed. Repairing the front door.
When they were done, they’d decided to take the next day off. Dawz, Jayla, and Atlas wouldn’t go to school, Thea would keep her café closed, and Pop wouldn’t cook for his clients.
“Like a holiday!” Jayla’s eyes shone.
“We could all use a rest.” Thea rubbed her back.
Atlas grunted in a way that said For sure.
“I don’t want to bake with molasses or buckwheat honey for a long time.” Dawz stretched his aching arms. Still, the scrubbing had felt good. He liked caring for Pop’s kitchen. Their kitchen. In Mom’s kitchen, he’d felt unsafe, and part of him would never forgive her for the stove-top fire. But it was a memory now, a sad one, and his kitchen with Pop and Jayla was safe.
“Your monster bombs and traps worked well.” Pop ruffled Dawz’s hair.
“That was all Jayla,” Dawz said, and Atlas nodded.
“And I know more about monsters now.” She yawned.
“We all do.” Pop traded a smile with Dawz. A smile that felt like home.
* * *
—
It wasn’t until Friday afternoon that Dawz, Jayla, and Pop finally stumbled into their kitchen in their pajamas. Sunlight slanted across the floor, showing them the molasses spots they’d missed cleaning.
Dawz groaned. “I’ll get a brush.”
“I can,” Pop said. “You have a monster to feed.”
“Not till dinner, although Atlas is coming to prep soon.” Dawz still couldn’t believe that in the town park lay the newly built nest of a monster named Mim. A monster he and Atlas planned to feed.
“Well, I can’t clean,” Jayla announced. “I need to update my monster report before Mim comes over. She’ll want to read it.”
“Looks like I’m on clean-up.” Pop headed for the laundry room, where they’d dumped their cleaning gear last night. “Then maybe I can help with your report?”
“Only if you follow my instructions,” Jayla said.
* * *
—
When Atlas arrived to help with dinner, Dawz dug out the aprons Mom had made. A few days ago, he’d shoved them in a kitchen drawer where he didn’t have to look at them. But now, he was curious. As he laid them across the kitchen island, Atlas let out a surprised grunt that meant You said the aprons were old and smelly.
“If we’re going to make Pizza of Extreme Greatness,” Dawz told his friend, “we should dress for it.”
Atlas raised an eyebrow. “You pick first.”
They both studied the aprons. One featured a dancing pink doughnut. Another showed a T-rex eating a cupcake. There was a fanged bulldog. A unicorn popping a balloon with its horn. A pickup truck floating in the Milky Way. The scariest was the snarling polar bear with wings. Its paws reminded Dawz of the Bear Beast statue.
All Mom’s aprons were weird in a way that Dawz used to find disturbing, but now they made him smile and feel teary at the same time. These aprons were all he had left of her, and they told a story he couldn’t quite grasp.
He picked up the polar bear apron and tied it on. Atlas chose the truck in the Milky Way.
“Galaxies are cool.” Atlas knotted his apron in place.
Dawz nodded. “Polar bears are fierce.”
Atlas grunted, low and rumbly, and Dawz felt understood. Since yesterday, his purple scales hadn’t grown or shrunk, and neither had the few on Thea. Dawz could still try to hide them, but he didn’t want to. He was part boy and part monster, and he didn’t care who knew it.
* * *
—
They put on their matching chef’s hats and pulled out the spelt flour and yeast, a mixing bowl and two pizza pans. They’d have to make several pizzas to feed everyone: Pop and Jayla, who were in the backyard working on her monster report. Ronny and Thea, who’d be arriving soon. Officer Rashmi would stop by too, although she’d be on duty, escorting their special guest.
His monster. A monster with fingernails instead of toxic claws. Dr. Lin had confirmed it.
