Whisper Down the Lane Clay Chapman (i read a book txt) 📖

the center armrest to reach the lock, poking it with his index finger until it sunk into its secured position. Now nobody could get in.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

Sean’s elbow hit the steering wheel, accidentally honking the horn. Whoops. Mom laughed as she spun around. Where was she going?

Sean watched her slip through a crowd of adults standing in the parking lot, disappearing among them. Moms and dads, or so he assumed. They held signs made of posterboard with scribbled pictures and bold words, angry words, written all over them. Some were even underlined. Even though Sean couldn’t read what they said, he understood the pictures. He saw the devil, only it wasn’t quite the devil. Sean recognized the Sharpied fangs and horns, but this devil had puffy red hair. A red button nose. Wide-arcing eyebrows and bone-white skin.

This devil looked more like a clown than an outright demon.

Like Ronald McDonald.

Why were these moms and dads waving their signs? What were they so mad about that they had to shout? He couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Sean glanced at the stuffed Ronalds still in his hands. They had the same smile as the devils on those handmade posterboard signs. His twin clowns didn’t have horns or fangs, but the resemblance was there. Their plush bodies suddenly felt hot in his hands.

Sean rolled down the passenger side window. Just a crack. Just wide enough for him to slip his right hand out, still clutching one of the Ronalds, and drop it into the parking lot.

The doll fell out of view, landing somewhere below.

Sean took the other Ronald and released the clown into the wild along with his twin. Once both diabolical brothers were out of the car, Sean quickly rolled up his window and sank into his seat. The leatherette squealed beneath his body as he slid beneath the horizon of the dashboard. He sat there, submerged from view, wondering if any of the protesting parents had noticed. Had they seen what he’d just done? Would they come after him now?

Sean crawled up in his seat. Just a bit. Just to peer between the headrest and the shoulder of his seat. Where was Mom? What was taking her so long? Why had she left—

Mom emerged from the crowd, pushing her way through with her elbows. She was holding a clear plastic container. A sundae just for him. Mom held it up to the window with both hands as an offering. The tip of vanilla curled over at the end.

“Found this just lying around. You don’t know anyone who’d want it, do you?”

Sean nodded vigorously. Me, me, me mememememeeeeeeeee! He unlocked the station wagon door.

“All yours,” Mom said as she slipped back inside. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“It’s already my birthday?” Sean was surprised it had crept up on him like that.

“Close enough. Now that it’s just you and me, we can celebrate whenever we want.” She leaned over and whispered, “And I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday.”

The world was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. No matter what came their way, Sean knew his mother would always be there for him. Just you and me, like she said.

Mom never asked about the dolls. She probably forgot. Sean never mentioned them, but as she turned the ignition and backed the station wagon up, forcing the protesting parents to part, he could’ve sworn he felt the passenger-side tire running both Ronalds over.

DAMNED IF YOU DON’T

 RICHARD: 2013

“Hear that?” Tamara asks. “Please tell me I’m not imagining it.”

“Trust me, I’m hearing it, too.”

Angels singing.

The grating strains of Enya’s “Orinoco Flow” drift across the plucking strings of a harp. You would’ve thought the pearly gates had opened up in the gym. The song is practically flooding into the hall. The music only grows louder as we walk. “Guess we’ve all died and gone to heaven,” I say.

Tamara moans. “If this is your idea of heaven, we’re in trouble.” She has been waiting for me in front of her classroom, wearing what I like to refer to as her Office Goth look. Subtly shadowed accents. A sooty half-pleated skirt. High-collared jacket that hides her neck. Her charcoal sleeves conceal the ink that wraps around her arms, over her left shoulder, the telltale tattoos of her after-school life obscured from her kids. Not to mention their parents.

“Hold your books?” I offer.

“Sooo sweet,” she says in her highest-pitched pom squad impression. A part of our intra-school romance is to pretend we’re other people. Role-play the Jock and Cheerleader, Chazz and Jenny, hitting on each other in the hallway between classes. “See you after practice?”

“Can’t,” I say in my best bro-brogue. “I’m totally stuck in detention again.”

“Oh, Chazz…What’d you do this time?”

“Condrey just won’t get off my back,” I huff. “She keeps riding me and riding me.”

Tamara laughs, drawing the attention of our wandering faculty pack. Mr. Dunstan turns toward us, his watery eyes widening, as if he’s hoping to be included in our game. We both drop our act and walk in silence. Tamara dips her chin, concealing her grin.

“How’s the day been?” I whisper. “Break up any riots?”

“Half my kids have come down with something.” She moans. “My class feels like such a petri dish. I can already feel another cold coming on.”

“We should get our flu shots together. We’ll get a babysitter. Make it a date night.”

Tamara stops walking. “I already got mine. We talked about this.”

I feign heartbreak. “You went without me?”

“I asked you, like, five times.”

She had. I’d just forgotten. Can I go the whole school year without inoculating myself against these rugrats? Danvers is its own hot zone. The bell rings and the outbreak begins.

“Hey.” Tamara elbows me. “Where’d you just go?”

“Still here.”

She clearly doesn’t believe me. “What’d I just say?”

“You said…” Find the thread, Richard. Come on, you can do it.

She rolls her eyes and lets me off the hook. “Miss Castevet. Professor Howdy. Who’d do something like