Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Though he rarely roamed the streets this late, Jeff couldn’t help but think the neighborhood was unusually quiet. He had no watch to check the time, but he doubted it could have been past ten. Mrs. Brannigan, Mr. Leery—hell, even mid-forties Mr. Cooper—he expected their houses to be dark; but the Loft’s should have been awake. They were recent college graduates, and it was Friday night.

Maybe they’re at a friend’s. He crossed the walkway to his house.

Climbing the lattice up to his bedroom proved impossible with his injury. His dad’s outburst at dinner replayed in his mind as he searched beneath the front-door welcome mat for the hide-a-key. A welcome mat—how ironic. I guess only if you’re not foreign. The key scraped the porch, and Jeff held still, not wanting to make another sound. They’ll ground me to graduation!

The crunch of leaves made him flashback to his encounter with Mr. Jain, but when he spun around, he saw it was Pakora—not a middle-aged man—who’d made him choke with fear.

“Pakora.” He sighed and closed his shaking fingers around the key. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered, reaching down. Then he remembered the bite she’d given him. “Are you going to be nice this time?”

The cat approached, ducking its head to receive strokes of affection, then did an abrupt change and sank its teeth into the soft spot between Jeff’s thumb and forefinger.

Pain shot through the sensitive area, but instead of withdrawing, he left his hand in the cat’s mouth and squeezed. The cat shrieked, and Jeff twisted, snapping the creature’s neck in a fluid motion. Its jaw slacked and released its hold.

Jeff jerked his head at the sound of a resounding thump, then realized it was his heart. His vision tunneled, and a pressure buzzed inside his head.

Oh my god! Pakora! He looked down at the cat in horror. I’ve never killed anything larger than a bug before, much less someone’s pet! He fumbled with the key in his palm as it slickened with sweat.

The world spun, reminding Jeff of a carnival ride from childhood. Once, Preston and some other kids asked Jeff if the sideshow workers abandoned him. It made him feel like a monster.

Maybe they weren’t far off, he thought, numbness overtaking him as he bent down and scooped the dead cat, still warm to the touch. He left the porch and walked around the side of the house. Though he felt it deserved a proper burial, now wasn’t the time, since at any moment his parents might find he wasn’t in his room. The more noise he made outside, the more likely they were to catch him.

I could never explain this. He hung his head and closed his eyes. “Sorry, Pakora,” he whispered and tossed the cat into the hedges. “Really, I am.” Branches and leaves crackled beneath the weight of the corpse as it landed.

There was movement overhead in his parents’ window, and he ducked in the shadows. At the same time, a loud noise from behind the bushes made him freeze and wonder if Pakora was still alive. It’s just a squirrel, he told himself after a moment of silence.

Once he was sure it was clear, he rounded the house, making his way back to the door and sliding the key into the lock. The door eased open, and darkness surrounded him as he entered the house. The pain in his ribs had dissipated, making it easier to move. After locking up, he snuck past the kitchen. Even in the low lighting, he could tell it was no longer a war zone. Good old Mom, he thought, approaching the stairs. You don’t have to deal with problems if you just sweep them away.

The squeak of the bathroom door just off his parents’ bedroom sent his heart falling to his stomach, and he froze halfway up the stairs. A ray of light trickled down the hall, and he listened, foot suspended mid-step, as his father hocked and spit in the toilet, then released a steady stream of piss into the water below.

A minute passed. The arch in his foot cramped. Aahh! He lowered it to the floor. A splintered groan escaped the step below, and his father called out.

“Hello?” Kevin was still in the bathroom. “Lori, are you awake?”

Jeff held his breath No, no! Sweat pooled beneath his armpits, and the palm he gripped the railing with turned slick and clammy. One wrong move and he’d never be free to leave his room again. Days seemed to pass in seconds, and the surrounding silence beat against his eardrums.

The clunk of the lid and accompanying flush told him his father was wrapping things up. The trail of light widened as the bathroom door swung open and footsteps approached the stairs.

No! He’ll kill me! Panic gnawed inside his stomach.

“Lori?” Kevin called, just off the stairway.

This is it. Any second now, I’m dead! His intestines twisted into a knot.

His father’s breathing was audible on the other side of the wall, but he never rounded the corner. Finally, there were receding footsteps, and the bathroom light went off. Jeff heard the bedroom door click.

He clutched the banister, wobbling, willing himself not to faint, and exhaled. Relief rushed through him, and he tiptoed up the stairs and down the hallway to his room. There never was a sweeter sound than that of his bedroom door closing behind him.

He stuffed a pillow against the door’s base so he could turn on his lamp undetected. Careful not to strain, he undressed and realized the pain had vanished. He inspected his ribcage for bruising, but what he saw was far worse.

The same discoloration on his arms spread through Jeff’s entire mid-section. He covered his mouth, stifling a scream and stumbling into the bedpost. The area was masked with tiny hairs that tickled his skin. My ribs. He pressed his side. They didn’t crack. I was changing again! He rotated by the mirror and found his back was different too. It’s almost like—

‘A spider’s mid-section,’ Mr. Drake had said during one of his lectures, ‘is its cephalothorax. A fusion of the arachnid’s head and upper body.’

He reached the wastebasket just in time, retching the contents of his stomach—not much considering what little dinner he ate. The fly he’d swallowed earlier hit the basket, and he heaved again, this time only bile. He wiped his mouth and caught his breath while every part of his body shook, cold sweat dotting his neck.

I’m turning. Hunched over, he placed his hands on his knees and breathed out. It’s not just my face anymore. He could no longer convince himself it was a fluke, something temporary. But somewhere inside he’d always known. This isn’t going away! He swallowed, tasting remnants of puke. I’m changing into a spider.

Seated on the edge of the bed, he hung his head. What’s wrong with me? He drove a fist against his palm. Why me, dammit!? His hands tingled, and that’s when it hit him:

The cafeteria; arguing with Dad; Mr. Jain’s assault. His mouth dropped. I was angry. I was . . . threatened.

Little comfort came with this realization. What the hell do I do? Once again, his father’s use of the word different popped into his mind. I can’t discuss this with him. My face is bad enough, but my body? And as for Mom, this isn’t exactly something she can sweep under the rug. With teary eyes, he turned out the light and crawled beneath the covers. An overwhelming fear hit him. Will my entire body change, or just certain parts? What if the effects spread to my brain? He remembered eating the fly and gagged. What then?