Read Online The Hike by Drew Magary - Free Book Online

with me if I go?” it asked Ben.
    â€œI promise.”
    â€œâ€™Cause I can take that whole finger off, you know. I’m just that strong and you’re just that clumsy.”
    â€œDeal.”
    They walked toward the house together, side by side.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Ben asked.
    â€œI’m a crab. I don’t have a name.”
    â€œWell, where did you come from?”
    â€œIdaho. Where do you think I came from? The fucking sea.”
    â€œDo you have any friends?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHow old are you?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWhere are we?”
    â€œBeats the shit outta me.”
    â€œI’m gonna give you a name.”
    â€œDon’t give me a name,” said the crab. “I’ve done just fine so far without one.”
    â€œFrank.”
    â€œI don’t want to be fuckin’ Frank. I’m a crab. Don’t go naming me or I’ll clip a toe off.”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œIf you call me Frank, I’m gonna call you Shithead.”
    â€œOkay, I got it. Understood. Crab it is.”
    Ben stopped at the sliding doors that opened to the deck of the cricket house.
    â€œHow do you know what’s up there?” he asked Crab.
    â€œI took a look around once.”
    â€œHave you ever seen people on this beach?”
    â€œNo. Apart from you.”
    â€œHow did you know I’d been in the house?”
    â€œBecause I saw you go in and then come screaming out like a fuckin’ horse on fire. It didn’t require any ace detective work.”
    â€œIf you saw what I saw, you’d be screaming, too.”
    â€œWhat’s
your
name, buddy?” Crab asked.
    â€œBen.”
    â€œThat’s only a little bit better than Shithead.”
    â€œI take it back. You can go back to the ocean now.”
    â€œI’m just messing with you.”
    â€œYeah, well, you picked the wrong time to be messing with me.”
    â€œAll right, all right, I can ease up. So are we going in that house? Or are we just gonna stand here?”
    â€œWe’re going. I just need a moment.” He turned to Crab. “Can you send someone a message for me if I don’t make it out of this house alive?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI’m not your courier, dickhead. I’m just walking up here to see if you spaz out again.”
    Ben didn’t bother trying to move this particular bit of conversation forward. He walked into the house and over the broken furniture and went back up the flight of stairs, pausing at the bottom of the third-floor staircase. The door to the attic was still hanging wide open. Nothing up there made a sound.
    â€œI don’t suppose you’d wanna look up there for me before I go,” he said to Crab.
    â€œEh, I got nothin’ better to do.”
    Crab skittered along the wooden toe-kick lining the staircase and zipped into the attic. He came back down seconds later.
    â€œThere’s a big fucking cricket in there.”
    â€œIs it dead?”
    â€œLooked like it.”
    â€œDid it move?”
    â€œNo.”
    Ben stood still. He could smell the cricket’s guts from the bottom of the staircase: a belly full of old digested fungal mat bits, putrefying and oozing into the floorboards . . . a rotten thing spreading its rot all over.
    â€œYou gonna go up there?” Crab asked.
    â€œI’m working up to it.”
    â€œYou sure take your time working up to everything. Won’t be any easier to walk up there five minutes from now.”
    â€œNo, I guess it won’t.”
    Ben started up the stairs and the massive bug’s carcass came back into view. The eyes leaked jellied whiteness. It made Ben want to tear his skin off. He would never be able to ascend or descend a staircase again without anticipating a cave cricket the size of a horse being there, ready to pounce. If he ever made it back home, he would have to move his