The Eyes Of Kid Midas

 ***

Kevin saw Nicole to the door. He offered to walk her home, but she wouldn't allow it.

'I'm fine by myself,' said Nicole. 'Cats are stupid, anyway.'

As she stood on his palm, before Kevin let her down to the ground, she took a long look at him.

'You know,' said Nicole, 'you should have waited.'

'Huh?'

'You should have waited before you kissed me. It was a really dumb thing to do. You should have waited till we were, like, going out or something.'

Kevin set her gently down on the sidewalk. 'But you'd never go out with me.'

Nicole shrugged. 'You never asked me.' Then she turned and began the long, long walk back to her house four blocks away.

10 SPECTERS IN THE DARK

Kevin told himself he wouldn't use them again. No matter how miserable he felt without the glasses on his face, he swore he'd stop once and for all.

Yet as he lay in bed that night, thoughts of the glasses pushed everything else out of his aching head. He knew where they were, so close, sitting there in his shirt pocket, hung on the back of his desk chair.

It wouldn't hurt just to look at them, thought Kevin, and so he heaved his cold, shaking body out of bed, took the glasses from his shirt, and set them open on his desk.

About a foot away from the wall outlet.

The glasses had already drained the heat from the room, but it wasn't enough. They sat there spent and powerless, just like Kevin, in a room that had become as cold as winter. Now the blade of the lenses was a dull, foggy gray, like cheap plastic that had been washed too many times.

In a moment, an arc of blue electricity bridged the cold air between the glasses and the outlet. It looked like one of those mad scientific devices in old monster movies.

Kevin slipped under his blankets and watched. It wouldn't hurt to let the glasses charge up just a little, he thought. Only they didn't charge just a little, they charged a lot. For half an hour Kevin watched and listened to the gently crackling electrical hum while everyone else slept.

Soon the glasses looked perfect again. The smooth visor blade was sharp and shiny—as perfect and pure as a diamond. They sat there, waiting patiently for Kevin.

Now Kevin longed more than ever to have the cold and the emptiness he felt chased away by the glasses.

If I wore them for just a second, it couldn't hurt, he thought. Could he bear that? Wearing them for just a second? Of course he could. Then he could put them back in his shirt pocket. That's what he'd do.

He reached out, crooked his finger, and grabbed the glasses, just as he had the first time, when he had seen them on the mountain. He slipped them on his face.

Instantly the icy night rolled over into a thick, warm quilt for Kevin to wrap himself in, protecting him from anything hidden in the shadows.

He stretched and let the warmth relay down his spinal column until it pulsed in his fingers and toes.

How good it was to feel so warm, so safe, and so comfortable. How could he ever want to feel differently?

Still wearing the glasses, Kevin felt sleep begin to pull him down with caressing hands. He gave no resistance.

 ***

Kevin opened his eyes some time later, deep into the night, hearing the distant sound of metal against metal. A rattling sound. A tilt of the head told him that the sound came from the left side of his room—more specifically, his closet.

Kevin sat up and walked what seemed to be twice the usual distance, noticing the sickly-sweet aroma of overripe fruit. Pushed by curiosity, he reached for the knob and turned it. The door creaked open to reveal a place that bore no resemblance to Kevin's closet. And Bertram was there.

Bertram was in the same clothes he wore the moment he was sucked out of the world, only now they were drenched in sweat.

Yes. Now I remember what he looked like was the first thought that flashed in Kevin's mind. Then the shock and horror followed it in, like thunder.

Bertram lunged at Kevin in fury, only to be choked back by the chains. Heavy black chains circled his legs, arms, and neck, rattling like iron bones. They were fastened securely to a jagged wall of steaming, black, shiny stone, which had replaced the walls of Kevin's closet. The glass-like obsidian shimmered, reflecting fires unseen.

It was exactly what Kevin imagined hell to be like.

Except for the fish.

Bertram's hell had fish everywhere. They flopped at his feet, they slithered down the wall and into his shirt. And they all smelled like used fruity bubble gum. It must have been Bertram's worst nightmare.

'You're dead, Midas!' screamed Bertram. 'You're dead when I catch you! You're gonna pay!'

And then Bertram's face changed. He wasn't a grimacing demon anymore, but a terrified thirteen-year-old boy.

'Please,' he whispered desperately, 'please, Kevin, help me. I'm scared . . . pleeeeeease...'

'I'm sorry!' cried Kevin. 'I didn't mean it! I didn't even know there really was a hell!'

Bertram changed again. His face twisted into a snarl, and he lunged forward like a madman, only to be choked back once more by chains that seemed strong enough to hold a dinosaur.

'You idiot!' growled Bertram. 'You made this place! You made it for me!'

Kevin knew it was the truth. Whatever other places there might be—in and out of the universe—this particular Hell was invented just for Bertram.

The rage left Bertram's eyes again, and once more he was just a kid. He began to cry. 'Please, Kevin, please, I'll be nice to you. I'll be your friend, just please get me out of here....'

If I step in the closet, Kevin thought, if I just cross over, lean bring him back.

Bertram stretched his hand out as far as he could, and Kevin took one step toward the closet, reaching for Bertram's grimy, wriggling fingers.

Then Bertram turned into an old winter coat, and the rattling chains became nothing more than the wire hangers clattering in the breeze of an open window. Kevin found himself in his pajamas, standing at the closet door.

The dream, and the memory of Bertram's face, were already fading, but still Kevin knew this was no ordinary dream. Not just because of how real it felt, but because of the smell that still filled the house. The awful bubble- gum stench of a million rotten strawberries.

 ***

Kevin stood for the longest time in front of Teri's bed, not having the nerve to wake her up. Eventually she awoke by herself, to see Kevin standing there, the way an ax murderer might. She gasped, then angrily threw a pillow at him. 'You don't scare me,' she declared. 'So get outta here.'

Kevin didn't move. Teri sniffed the air.

'Ughh! What is that stink? Did you fart, Kevin?'

'No,' he answered. 'Teri,' he said, his voice quavering, 'I gotta talk to you.'