Read Online Mr. Splitfoot by Samantha Hunt - Free Book Online Page A

bite. A sweet odor spreads thicker than it would in the light of day. Candy, taffy from Troy. He puts the rest of it in his mouth. “Call him.” Nat chews. “He likes girls.”
    “Who?”
    “Mr. Splitfoot.”
    She leans in. “But I want to talk to my mom.”
    “You’ve got to go through him first.”
    “Oh.” So she tries, “Mr. Splitfoot? Hello?”
    Doesn’t take Nat but a moment to make contact with the dead. “Konk.”
    “Are you talking to me?”
    “No. Shh.” He bobs his head from side to side, clearing the air of her question. Mid-bob, he freezes. Their grip tightens. The house groans. A disturbed and breathy voice comes from Nat’s mouth. “Got any more candy?” Mr. Splitfoot sounds sexy.
    “Who are you?”
    Nat leans into her, inhaling like an animal. She feels the brush of his soft stubble on her cheek. Then quickly, in her ear, “Who do you think, you filthy?”
    She can just make Nat out in the dark. “That’s my mother?” His chin is twisted, his neck hard-cranked to the left. His eyes bob in their sockets. “Nat?” She tilts her chin up.
    Dirty water rushes through a pipe overhead.
    Like an electric shock, his arms go rigid. His chin tracks right before resetting as an electronic typewriter might. A bit of drool forms in the corner of his mouth and dribbles out. “Say. Say.” The voice does not fit in Nat’s mouth.
    “Who are you?”
    “Let me check.” Nat’s eyes dip back into his head, white with fine strands of blood.
    Ruth pokes Nat in the chest.
    “Tirzah. Kateri Tekakwitha. Yaaa-deee!” He lifts up to his knees, a man begging his wife for one more chance. “Ruthie. Ruthie. Ru. The mangled and the mauled.” And a whisper, “Starlight. Star bright. First pair of shoes we’ve seen tonight. Ha.”
    Nat’s head sways. His eyes are glazed. There are the sounds of the house. Then, “Kateri.” Then, “Claustrophobia. A little slice can feel so nice.” The room is charged with a fresh dampness. Nat wheezes, air passing through the stretched lips of a balloon. “Sorry, Ruth.” The voice is an old record in a deep well. “Oh, Ruth. Oh, Ruth.”
    “Nat?”
    The voice grows softer, kittenish. “She wish she may, I wish I might, get those lungs back, bitch, tonight.”
    “My lungs?”
    “Uh-huh. And heart.”
    “Nat?”
    “No. Not Nat.”
    “Mom?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Go to hell.”
    “It’s lovely down here.”
    When it’s over, he reaches for Ruth’s hand, squeezing her fingertips separately, like release valves. “That was her?” she asks.
    But it’s not Nat who answers. Another voice, positioned behind Ruth’s head, cuts in. “Bravo. Bravo. Good style, young ones.”
    Ruth screams.
    A hand swiftly covers her mouth and nose.
    “Shh. Shh. Shh. Quiet there, girl. I beg you.” His words are so close, they move her hair.
    “Who’s that?” Nat asks as Nat again.
    “Hold your tongue. Tranquility.”
    They know his way of speaking. Mr. Bell draws the rest of himself up behind her. “Remember me?”
    She nods yes.
    “Can I uncover your mouth?”
    Yes, again.
    He releases her. He fumbles in his pocket for a match, a needle to prick the iris. She looks away from the light, sees his pants, his knees. He squats on the coal bin floor beside them.
    “Very well done.”
    “What are you doing here?” Nat stands.
    “Forgive my intrusion. I’m a traveler, trying to earn a living best I can, and you see this month I’ve come up a hair short. These are not the dwellings I’m accustomed to, but, we, I, make do.”
    Nat and Ruth wait for a further explanation.
    “An opportunity presented itself. You folks have this large basement, and I needed a place to sleep. I’ll ask you please not to reveal my pallet to your father. In the morning I will be gone.”
    “He’s not our father.”
    “Forgive me. I misunderstood the nature of your relationship. Is there a mother? I haven’t seen a mother.”
    “You snuck down here?”
    “Sneaked. Yes. A