Fangboy

James gave him a serious nod. “Yes, they do seem like the teeth of a beast from hell. I was thankful that you were unconscious when I saw them for the first time. What caused your teeth to grow in such a manner?”

“It’s how I was born.”

“God was angry that day, I think. Or careless. Have you committed acts of evil with these?”

Nathan’s mouth went dry. “Not on purpose.”

“Evil is not always in the intent. What have you done?”

“I bit somebody.”

“I see. I would hate to be the owner of flesh that was sandwiched between those fangs. How did you feel after it happened?”

“Awful.”

“Did you want to die?”

“Well, no, I didn’t want to die, I just felt bad.”

“Did this unleash feelings of self-loathing?”

“I’m not sure. I wished I hadn’t done it.”

“Do you plan to bite others?”

“No. Never.”

“Do you feel that perhaps your teeth are a blessing? That they make you greater than other human beings? That they are in fact a gift from the creator?”

“No.”

“Nor would I. You may remove the leaf.”

Nathan peeled the leaf off his arm. The wound had healed. “How did you do that?”

“Strong leaf. Walk the path of the righteous and all will be well. When you leave my hut, follow the sun until it drops below the horizon, and then walk north until you reach a path. It is a well-traveled path, and soon somebody will find you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, thank you, for allowing me to fulfill my purpose. God be with you.”

Nathan left the hut. He had no food or water, but he knew that he would make it. He need only—

“I’ve got you!” snarled Professor Kleft, grabbing Nathan by the back of the neck. “Dark times are ahead, I promise you that!”

SIXTEEN

Coach repair was not a skill that Kleft possessed in abundance, though to be fair, he never would have tried to claim otherwise. The coach wobbled and creaked and the horses had a terrible time trying to drag it on only two wheels. He was also not a skilled driver, though the horses were more or less traveling in a direction similar to the one he wanted.

Nathan sat next to him. His wrists were bound together with thick rope, as were his feet. He wore a tight gag. Kleft had not been gentle with the tying and gagging process.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” said Kleft. He’d said this at least a dozen times. “You’ve ruined the coach and made me shoot my driver. I rescued you. Don’t you see that? I showed up to give you a better life, and this is how you repay me, by creating a situation in which I was forced to accidentally kill a man who was only trying to do his job? Do you feel that was a grand gesture on your part?”

Nathan said nothing, since he was gagged and not in a position to hold up his end of the conversation.

“His death is on your conscience,” said Kleft. “When you close your eyes and see his screaming face, you will know that it’s your fault he lies buried in a shallow grave.”

Kleft had made this point, including the part about the screaming face, at least fourteen times. Nathan didn’t expect him to tire of making it any time soon.

“Uncomfortable things await you in the afterlife. Uncomfortable things indeed.” Then he shrugged. “But, best not to dwell on them, I suppose. Are you hungry? Would you like some beef jerky?”

Nathan nodded, because he knew that Kleft would have to remove the gag in order to feed him, which might allow Nathan the opportunity to work out some sort of brilliant escape.

“To hell with you!” said Kleft. “All of the beef jerky is going into my own stomach!”

But as the journey progressed, Kleft’s mood seemed to brighten. Then a third wheel popped free of the coach, and his mood soured again. When the fourth wheel came off, he let the horses drag the coach along the ground for a few miles (the horses, it must be repeated, were unharmed and found themselves enjoying the exercise) until he finally gave up and they rode the rest of the way directly on the horses’ backs. Nathan had long- fantasized about riding a horse, though in his fantasies he was not tied up and gagged and bouncing around so hard that his legs had become one giant bruise.

“At last we have arrived,” said Kleft, as they rode through a large town called Apple Falls. They passed inns, restaurants, churches, cemeteries, and a sinister playground before turning onto a long, winding road. At the end, there was a small building, constructed with odd angles and six different types of wood, upon which hung a blood- red sign: Professor Mongrel’s Theatre of the Macabre.

Nathan frowned and said something inquisitive.

“What’s that?” asked Kleft, tugging down the gag.

“I thought it was Professor Kleft’s Parade of the Macabre.”

“It will be,” he said. His face darkened. “Someday.”

The front door opened, and a short, plump man in a black suit and top hat waddled out.

“Kleft! Where in the blazes have you been?” he shouted.

“I apologize, sir,” said Kleft. “There were complications.”

“What in the blazes have you done to my coach?”

“That was among the complications.”

“That enrages me.” He looked at Nathan. “Is that the fang-toothed boy?”

“Yes.”

“Clearly he also possesses superhuman strength. I’m thankful those ropes kept him from overpowering you. Untie him, you fool.”

Kleft muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, then knelt down and began to untie the rope around Nathan’s feet.

The man waddled over to them. “Your name had better be Nathan Pepper,” he said.

Nathan nodded.

“And when you open your mouth immediately after I complete this sentence, your teeth had better be frightening.”

Nathan opened his mouth. The man’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “By the serpents of Medusa, I expected them to be only half as scary!” Then he smiled. “Fine work, Assistant Kleft, fine work. I’ll deduct fewer coins from your pay this week.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Kleft, tossing aside the first rope and going to work on the one that bound Nathan’s wrists.

“What happened to the driver?”

“He was slain.”

“Slain?”

“Slain by this beast of a boy. Do you remember that our driver had a throat when we left?”

“I do.”

“Well, that all changed.”

“Goodness.”

“The boy went at him in a frenzy of fangs and fingernails. So much blood. Apparently all it takes is the utterance of certain common English words—I dare not say which ones—to ignite his kill-lust. Our driver was brave, but bravery doesn’t do much for a man when his windpipe is exposed for the world to see. So very much blood. It took five men to stop him, not including myself, and if you were to see what those five men look like now, your stomach would churn and you would let out a cry of revulsion. ‘Disgusting!’ you would shout. ‘Better that these poor