The Becoming - a novella Read Online Free PDF Page B

shy kid as well,
Tim had struggled to make friends in the year since he and his mom moved here from
Harrisburg to be with Matt. He had a grand total of just three friends, and all
three had flat-out refused to consider it. They hadn’t even bothered to discuss
the matter. It was as if they had been brainwashed by their parents or
something.
    Tim couldn’t
understand it. Everybody knew there was no such thing as ghosts or monsters.
Sure, they made cool subjects for books and movies, and especially for
video games, where zombies routinely attacked and twelve years old were
routinely called upon to save the world. But that was fantasy, not reality. It
seemed obvious to Tim that there was an important distinction there.
    His friends,
however, failed to recognize that distinction. Jake Mallory, not exactly a
tough guy but the acknowledged leader of the small group, not only refused to hike
out to the mine but told Tim if he was going to be so fucking stupid he could
just find himself a new bunch of kids to hang out with. That was how he said
it, too: “so fucking stupid.”
    Well, Tim didn’t
think it was stupid, he thought it sounded like one heck of a lot of fun,
certainly better than sitting around in Jake’s basement watching reruns of Two
and a Half men. That was fucking stupid, as far as he was concerned. Tim
had shut his mouth and pretended to let the issue drop, all the while figuring
out a way to get some time to himself.
    He heard his mom
clomping down the hallway—thank God for the high-heeled shoes she liked to wear
to work—and burst out from the blankets, worrying he had once again stayed
under too long. He was so busy brooding about Jake Mallory and his other two
friends, wondering where their sense of adventure had gone, that he may have
blown everything.
    “I don’t know,
honey,” his mom said, opening the door and poking her head in to smile at Tim.
“I can’t find that darned thermometer anywhere, and I thought I knew exactly
where I had put it. I guess I’ll have to buy a new one.” She looked him over
critically. “You seem even more flushed than before. Are you sure . . .”
    “Yeah, Mom, I’ll
be okay.” Tim remembered to put a little weakness into his voice. “I’ll call
you if I start feeling really bad, I promise.”
    She paused for
what felt like forever, staring at him through narrowed eyes, but Tim knew he
had her. At twelve, he didn’t know—or care—much about finances, but he had
overheard enough conversations between Matt and his mom to know they needed
money, and while he felt guilty as heck about deceiving her, he knew she
wouldn’t stay home just because he was running a little fever.
    “All right,” she
finally said. “But not too much TV, okay? Try to get some sleep. And drink
plenty of fluids.” She walked over to his bed and bent down to give him a quick
kiss on the forehead, furrowing her eyebrows in concern when she felt the
warmth of his skin. Tim felt another, more powerful surge of guilt and almost
confessed the whole thing—pretending to be sick, planning the hike out to the
old abandoned mine, everything—but somehow kept his mouth shut and then the
feeling passed.
    His mom smiled
down at him and ruffled his hair again. Then she turned and walked out the door
with a wave. Tim listened do the click-click-click of her high heels on the
hallway floor as she headed toward the front door. He stayed under the blankets
pretending to be sick until he heard her car start up and back down the
driveway. He pushed the covers back and sat on the edge of his bed, listening
to sound of her Honda’s rough-running engine fading and then disappearing
entirely.
    Then he got to
work.
    ***
    Sweat poured down Tim’s face as he
struggled through the underbrush. He had filled a backpack with supplies—three
water bottles and a few snacks, as well as some tools he thought he might need—before
leaving the house and his pack seemed to have grown steadily heavier as he
hiked.