Fangboy

“Well, well, well, thought you could get away, did you? Not so tough when your victim is awake, are you? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t squeeze right now and pop your head off?”

Nathan couldn’t speak.

“I should make an example of you right here. If there’s one thing I won’t tolerate, it’s attempts to kill me in my sleep. Get ready to join your parents, boy! Have you come up with your reason yet?”

Nathan still couldn’t speak.

“My God, are you so pathetic that you cannot even think of one reason that I should not pop your head off? What about the fact that it will hurt? That’s a good reason right there, one I came up with on the spot.”

“Please—” Nathan finally managed to say.

“Please what?”

“Please don’t kill me.”

Steamspell loosened his grip on Nathan’s neck. “I’m not going to kill you, you disgraceful ingrate. I’m going to give you what you want. You want to be free of me and the shelter I provide? Have at it. Who do you think will help somebody like you on the outside? Nobody, that’s who!”

Steamspell opened the front door and beckoned with exaggerated grace.

“You’ll see how it is. Your mommy and daddy may have protected you from the world, but in real life, people are afraid of monsters. They hate them. When people see you, first they’ll shriek, then they’ll shove a shotgun in your face, and then they’ll pull the trigger, and that’s a promise!”

“I don’t believe you.”

Steamspell grinned. “Well, Fangboy, then you won’t live much longer. You can live like an animal or die like one, but either way, you’re going to be an animal. Get out.”

Nathan ran out the door, and then he kept on running. He was scared of traps and goblins, but he was more scared of Steamspell changing his mind. He ran and ran and ran, fleeing deep into the forest.

SIX

After ten or fifteen minutes of running, Nathan took a moment to reflect upon his good fortune. He’d somehow avoided every landmine, every bear trap, every ravenous wolf, every quicksand pit, and every other trap that Steamspell had set up to keep little boys from escaping the orphanage. He was blessed!

Now he just had to keep running until he found a road. Somebody would eventually stop and help him. If he told them how bad things were, they wouldn’t make him go back to that horrible place, would they?

No, they’d just press a shotgun to his chest.

Laugh at him, or scream in horror.

Then shoot him.

“Die, Fangboy!”

But what else could he do? He had to trust somebody. He couldn’t live out in the woods on his own.

Could he?

* * *

One of the most heavily debated elements of the tale of Fangboy is his year spent living alone in the forest. “Impossible!” some scholars have said. “He was only six years old! He would barely have lasted the night, much less twelve full months!”

An oft-proposed theory is that Nathan discovered a small and rickety cabin in the woods, where a mildly deranged old man lived. Though not an entirely discredited scenario, no evidence of a cabin was ever found, and there seems to be no reason Nathan Pepper would have lied about this part of his experience.

Most people, upon hearing about his forest adventure for the first time, immediately assume that Nathan succumbed to the natural advantages given to him by his dental abnormality, biting into the necks of deer and small game for food. This is incorrect. During his year in the forest, Nathan did not kill a single living creature, with the obvious exception of ants, mosquitoes, and other bugs, which were slain accidentally and without malice.

This is not to say that he sustained himself entirely on the two types of berries that were available within the woods. Though he rarely strayed more than fifty feet from the protection of the thick forest, he did venture into backyards, stealing apples from trees, garbage from cans, and sometimes—lured by the delicious scent—meat from unsupervised charcoal grills. When the weather was at its coldest, he slept in barns and doghouses.

He kept moving north, though he couldn’t say for sure why he was drawn in this direction. It is also worth noting that his sense of direction was generally poor, and he spent as much time backtracking as he did moving forward, which is why even at his slow pace he never reached the end of the forest.

The forest was far from a comfortable place for a young boy to live, but Nathan seemed to have quite the knack for making it on his own out in the wilderness. Climbing trees was no problem. He bathed regularly in lakes and rivers, just as his parents would have forced him to do against his will. No wild animals tried to kill him (though, much to his disappointment, nor did any try to befriend him).

Each morning, he woke up thinking that perhaps he should show himself, that maybe Steamspell was wrong, that maybe he’d been taken in and cared for. Each night, he went to bed knowing that Steamspell was absolutely right, that he’d be executed as a freak if he was discovered.

When his clothes fell apart in tatters, he fashioned his own clothing out of leaves. When that was a rather humiliating failure, he walked around naked, natural, and free for a couple of days until he stole some ill-fitting clothes from a laundry line.

Occasionally he had fantasies about burning down the orphanage, but mostly he didn’t think about it. He thought about his mother and father all the time, despite his best efforts to put them out of his mind because it made him feel sad and lonely.

One day as he walked through the forest, eating some berries he’d gathered earlier that morning, he thought that it might be his seventh birthday.

He wanted to celebrate. Have a great big party with cake (chocolate), balloons (red and green), presents (plentiful), and candles (seven). Perhaps a clown who would juggle. A magician who’d make the clown disappear. Pony rides. Fireworks.

“It’s going to be the best birthday of all time,” he said out loud. Nathan spoke out loud at least once a day, despite there being nobody else around, to be sure that he wouldn’t forget how to talk.

The forest did not contain much in the way of cake mix. If he wanted to celebrate his birthday properly, he’d have to venture out and steal some supplies.

He walked until evening, but didn’t walk far enough to emerge from the woods. Disappointed, he curled up next to a tree and went to sleep.

The next day he woke up with a strange feeling that this was his seventh birthday, and that yesterday he’d simply been overly excited. Yes, today he would celebrate. All of the forest creatures would be jealous of his grand birthday party.

As he resumed walking toward what he hoped was the edge of the forest, Nathan decided that if he hadn’t found any theft-worthy birthday supplies by the time it started to get dark, he’d improvise. Tiny branches would serve as candles. A pile of mud would be his cake, though he would not consume it. He would wrap a rock in leaves and pretend to be delighted when he opened his gift.

But improvisation turned out to be unnecessary, and his heart leapt with joy as he emerged from the forest into somebody’s backyard. There were no fruit-bearing trees or food on a grill or spare clothes hanging from a line, but Nathan was certain that if he did a bit of exploration, he’d find something to make his birthday a happy one.

It was a nice little one-story house. White and freshly painted, with a colorful flower garden, bright green grass, and a welcoming environment, despite the lack of any visible signs welcoming him.

There were no toys. Sometimes these homes had toys, and Nathan would occasionally jump on a trampoline, or dig in a sandbox, or wobble back and forth on a giant plastic bumblebee. This was always fun, although less fun than it would have been if he weren’t so scared of being caught.

But he’d never been caught. Yes, he’d been chased away three or four times, but nobody ever knew that he was a fanged monster living in their woods. They couldn’t have suspected that, or they would have sent people into