Read Online The Boy With Penny Eyes by Al Sarrantonio - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Al Sarrantonio
Tags: Horror
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and only a small light in the room. The ceiling was pale orange. He saw, in the corners of his vision that weren't covered by the figure standing over him, the long grotesque shadows of the stuffed animals in the room, distorted pigs and bears, orange in the glow of the lamp on the desk.
"Billy?" the figure over him called again. It was the man who had found him in the back of the church.
Billy sat up and looked at him.
The man blinked, and then a genuine smile spread across his face. "Thought you were going to sleep forever," he said. "You feel all right?" He reached out and touched the boy's forehead with the back of his hand. Billy didn't resist.
"I'm all right," he said.
"Do you know you've been in this bed since yesterday morning? It's Monday night now. I was about to make my wife call the doctor. Then I told her to wait until I saw if I could wake you myself." He smiled.
Billy pulled his legs up out of the covers and started to put his clothes on.
The man put his hand on Billy's arm. "Hold on there, partner," he said. His voice assumed an air of quiet authority. Again he put the back of his hand to Billy's forehead, then felt his neck under the chin and around the back. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't feel sick?"
Billy reached down for his shoes next to the bed. "No."
"How long has it been since you had a good night's sleep?"
"A while," he answered simply.
"I saw you in the organ loft yesterday. When I came back here and found you asleep, I thought for a moment there must be two of you. You must have really been tired to go back to bed."
Billy said nothing.
"Well . . ." The man was looking down as if weighing options. "Okay. We'll let it go at that. You hungry?"
"Yes."
"You're just in time for supper. The bathroom's down the hall; wash up and get dressed, and come downstairs to the dining room in five minutes."
Billy nodded.
Beck stood up, hesitated at the end of the bed, then almost stopped and turned at the doorway. Instead he walked down the hallway and descended the stairs to the floor below.
Billy dressed and went down.
There was the smell of cooking vegetables. There was the odor of peas and carrots, and potatoes, and the meaty smell of gravy along with the sharply pleasant burned odor of roasted chicken. He heard the clatter of silverware in the kitchen, the murmur of voices. Someone laughed in a young girlish voice, and he heard Reverend Beck laughing immediately and then the girlish voice turned to a protesting squeal. He walked into the bright light of the kitchen to see Beck sitting at the table with a girl of thirteen or so. For a moment the scene froze like a still photograph: the reverend with his hands entwined in the air in the shape of bird's wings, swooping at his daughter's head; the girl just beginning to duck away, her mouth open, trying to suppress a laugh and at the same time form the words, "Stop, Daddy!" even though she didn't want him to stop; Mrs. Beck nearby, just setting a plate down, frowning at the two of them. The photograph became a moving picture and the scene changed dramatically: Mary looked up with the dish in her hand, her frown turning to a look of sullen wariness; Jacob Beck turning his attention away from his daughter, saying, “Ah,”as his eyes met Billy's; and his daughter, her laughter instantly replaced by self-consciousness, staring down at the table in front of her.
"I see you really are awake," Jacob Beck said. He smiled and stood, regarding the boy closely. "We've certainly got enough to eat." He took his daughter by the arm gently, still looking at Billy. "This is Christine. You've been staying in her room the last couple of nights."
Christine and Billy studied each other silently.
Beck turned to introduce his wife, but she had suddenly disappeared into the kitchen.
They ate in near silence. What normally would have been a talkative dinner table became awkwardly quiet, with Jacob Beck's occasional attempts at conversation quickly failing.
"Billy?" the figure over him called again. It was the man who had found him in the back of the church.
Billy sat up and looked at him.
The man blinked, and then a genuine smile spread across his face. "Thought you were going to sleep forever," he said. "You feel all right?" He reached out and touched the boy's forehead with the back of his hand. Billy didn't resist.
"I'm all right," he said.
"Do you know you've been in this bed since yesterday morning? It's Monday night now. I was about to make my wife call the doctor. Then I told her to wait until I saw if I could wake you myself." He smiled.
Billy pulled his legs up out of the covers and started to put his clothes on.
The man put his hand on Billy's arm. "Hold on there, partner," he said. His voice assumed an air of quiet authority. Again he put the back of his hand to Billy's forehead, then felt his neck under the chin and around the back. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't feel sick?"
Billy reached down for his shoes next to the bed. "No."
"How long has it been since you had a good night's sleep?"
"A while," he answered simply.
"I saw you in the organ loft yesterday. When I came back here and found you asleep, I thought for a moment there must be two of you. You must have really been tired to go back to bed."
Billy said nothing.
"Well . . ." The man was looking down as if weighing options. "Okay. We'll let it go at that. You hungry?"
"Yes."
"You're just in time for supper. The bathroom's down the hall; wash up and get dressed, and come downstairs to the dining room in five minutes."
Billy nodded.
Beck stood up, hesitated at the end of the bed, then almost stopped and turned at the doorway. Instead he walked down the hallway and descended the stairs to the floor below.
Billy dressed and went down.
There was the smell of cooking vegetables. There was the odor of peas and carrots, and potatoes, and the meaty smell of gravy along with the sharply pleasant burned odor of roasted chicken. He heard the clatter of silverware in the kitchen, the murmur of voices. Someone laughed in a young girlish voice, and he heard Reverend Beck laughing immediately and then the girlish voice turned to a protesting squeal. He walked into the bright light of the kitchen to see Beck sitting at the table with a girl of thirteen or so. For a moment the scene froze like a still photograph: the reverend with his hands entwined in the air in the shape of bird's wings, swooping at his daughter's head; the girl just beginning to duck away, her mouth open, trying to suppress a laugh and at the same time form the words, "Stop, Daddy!" even though she didn't want him to stop; Mrs. Beck nearby, just setting a plate down, frowning at the two of them. The photograph became a moving picture and the scene changed dramatically: Mary looked up with the dish in her hand, her frown turning to a look of sullen wariness; Jacob Beck turning his attention away from his daughter, saying, “Ah,”as his eyes met Billy's; and his daughter, her laughter instantly replaced by self-consciousness, staring down at the table in front of her.
"I see you really are awake," Jacob Beck said. He smiled and stood, regarding the boy closely. "We've certainly got enough to eat." He took his daughter by the arm gently, still looking at Billy. "This is Christine. You've been staying in her room the last couple of nights."
Christine and Billy studied each other silently.
Beck turned to introduce his wife, but she had suddenly disappeared into the kitchen.
They ate in near silence. What normally would have been a talkative dinner table became awkwardly quiet, with Jacob Beck's occasional attempts at conversation quickly failing.
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