Ghoul

'I'll take my 1& gun. If we see one, I'll shoot it before it even gets close.'

'If your mom lets you, that is.'

Timmy shrugged. 'What she doesn't know won't hurt her. I don't see why I should have to report every little thing I do during the day. This ain't Russia.'

'Sometimes I wish my mom would ask me where I was going and what I was doing. It would be nice to know she cared.'

Timmy wasn't sure what to say. 'She cares, man. She just… has a funny way of showing it.' Right away, he realized how insincere he sounded.

Doug didn't reply. He stared out at the falling rain, watching it run down the windows and pour off the roof of the Graco's shed.

'Seriously,' Timmy said, even though he didn't believe it, 'you know she loves you, right?'

Slowly, Doug looked at him. His bottom lip quivered and there was a haunted, feral look in his eyes that Timmy had never seen before. His face had gone pale.

'That's just it. She loves me too much. She…'

He sobbed, unable to finish. Sniffling, he turned away. His hands curled into fists, and he slammed them into his legs again and again.

Timmy reached out his hand. 'Hey.'

Doug's entire body began to tremble. He made a sound like a wounded animal.

'She…'

'Doug, what is it?'

Part of Timmy was already afraid he knew the answer, and another part of him was even more afraidafraid of having those suspicions confirmed, afraid of what it might mean for his friend, and for them all. A loss of innocence, a dark passage from boyhood into the beginnings of manhood. He couldn' t articulate it, not even to himself, but the emotions were there, deep down inside, bubbling to the surface and now spilling out over the brim.

'Whatever it is, you can tell me.'

'She… oh, God.'

Tears rolled down both of Doug' s cheeks. When he spoke, he started slowly, each word, each syllable, choked out with an agonizing slowness. But the more he talked, the faster the rhythm and the confirmation of everything that Timmy dreadedbecame.

'She… she comes to me at night. In my room. When I'm sleeping. She ttouches me. Down there. And I don't want to like it. I don't want to, you knowget hard. But I do anyway. Deep down inside, a part of me does want to. I can 't help it. Can't control it. She puts her mouth on my… on my thing… and I can' t stop her. And then things start happening. I don 't like the way it feels, but I let her do it anyway.' Doug shuddered at the memories, and Timmy found himself doing the same.

'How long?'

Doug looked at him in confusion. 'How long is what?'

'How long has it been going on?'

'It started after my dad left. Seems like forever. Sometimes it' s all a blur. You know?

She lost her nursing job at the private school. Dad left around the same time. Instead of getting a job as a school nurse somewhere else, Mom just stayed home and started drinking. She ' d sit there in front of the TV, just staring and crying, or lock herself inside her bedroom for twelve hours at a time. Eventually, she started staying awake all night, usually drunk, and then sleeping all day. And that was when she started coming in my room at night. Timmythe things she says.

The things she does. They sort of feel good, and that' s the worst part of all, because they shouldn 't. You and Barry joke about them when we're in the Dugout, reading those magazine letters and stuff, but in real life… In real life, those things are horrible. You don' t want to hear those things. Not from your mother. Not from…' Tears eradicated the rest. He hung his head and sobbed into his chest. After a moment, Timmy slid out of bed and padded over to him. He sat down, hesitated, and then put his arm around his best friend. Doug stiffened, but didn 't move. They sat like that for a long time. Occasionally, Timmy would squeeze his shoulder.

Outside, the thunder rolled. Another ominous blast rattled the windows. Both boys jumped at the noise, and then were still again.

'That's why I put a lock on my door from the inside,' Doug said, wiping his nose with his shirt. 'That deadbolt? You and Barry laughed at me about it, but you didn' t understand. You didn 't know. It was to keep her out. She'd come in when I was sleeping. I'd wake up and she' d be standing there in the moonlight. Naked, sometimes. A few times she had on stuff like the centerfolds wear. Or worse, she 'd already be in the bed with me. Under the covers… doing stuff.'

Timmy nodded, sick to his stomach. He pictured Carol Keiser doing the things Doug was describing, and then immediately wished he hadn't.

'She always made me promise not to tell. Said it was our secret, that no one else would understand, and that if I told anybody, my dad might never come back, or that they' d take her away from me, too.'

'So what did you do?'

'What could I do? I didn't do anything. I just laid there and… took it.'

'Jesus.'

'When it was over, sometimes she'd go back to her room or out into the living room. A few times she passed out. Right there in my bed. That' s how drunk she was. Couple times, she called me by my dad 's name, and once, she called me by someone else's.'

'Who?'

'Someone I don't know. Some guy. Harry. Who knows? Could have been an old boyfriend of hers, or maybe she was running around on my dad.' Or maybe, Timmy thought, it was another kid. Someone just like you, Doug. After all, she was a school nurse at a private boy's school.

Doug got to his feet and pulled a tissue out of the box on Timmy' s dresser. He blew his nose, then sat back down again. His hands kneaded the crumpled tissue, rolling it, then balling it up, and then rolling it again.

'A few times,' he continued, 'she said I should have you guys spend the night more often. You and Barry. Said if I convinced you, and you promised not to tell, that she ' d let you guys do things to her, too. Let you touch her, and… stuff. I never told you guys, because I was afraid you might tell somebody, or that you might…' He paused, and shook his head.

'Might what, Doug?'

'Nothing.'

'Come on, man. You can tell me. You told me this much already.'

'And I shouldn't have. You can't tell anyone, Timmy. Not a soul.'

'I'm not going to say anything. You thought Barry and I might what?'

'Promise you won't get mad?'

'Sure. I promise.'

'You've got to swear it, Timmy. You've got to cross your heart and hope to die.' Despite his friend's traumatic confession, Timmy found himself chuckling at this.

'And stick a needle in my eye while I' m at it? Come on, Doug. What are we, back in Mrs. Trimmer 's fourth grade class? I swear it already. Cross my heart… and hope to die.' Doug licked his lips, nervous. 'I… I was afraid you guys might do it.'

'Oh, dude! You thought we'd do your mom? Man, that's sick.'

'Lower your voice.' Doug reached out and clamped a sweaty hand over Timmy's mouth.

'You'll wake up your parents.'

He removed his hand, and put his finger to his lips as a reminder. Outside the window, blue lightning flashed across the sky, making it daylight for a brief instant.

'Sorry,' Timmy said. 'But man, dude, I mean… how could you think something like that about us? We'd never do that to you. It' s disgusting. It would be like doing that Jane Fonda chick that Mr. Messinger down at the newsstand thinks is so hot. Yeah, like maybe thirty years ago she was. Gross!

Your Mom 's like… old. And she's your mom, for Christ 's sake.'

'I know, I know,' Doug whispered, ashamed. 'But I was… jealous, I guess. I know that sounds weird, I mean, what with all she was doing to me. But despite all that, she' s still my mother. I still want her to love me. Just not