Rabbit Rue

By Shaun M. Thomas

Tammond Dale, a peaceful burg of succor and madness cowers at the whim of Rabbit Rue, who sups upon the souls of those he's undone. When providence blows Kyle and his family to the the town and into the arms of the girl Rue so jealously guards, he too becomes snared within its insanity and horror. Kyle must disrupt the cycle, or forever doom his own soul and creation itself to oblivion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shaun M. Thomas
• Release date: Feb 1, 2010

Shaun M. Thomas

Shaun was born in Washington state in 1977 with a major heart defect that kept him inside mostly in the company of books. The surgery in 1984 kept him alive, but the tone was already set: libraries became his home, books a constant companion. He started writing at twelve and never stopped, though distracted by school and career along the way. Shaun works as a Database Administrator in the Chicago area now, writing for the sheer joy of it, hoping his idle ruminations entertain at least a couple other people.

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Rabbit Rue

Book 1 of The Phase Cycle

Shaun M. Thomas

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Shaun M. Thomas

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue

Hit it again! they jeered.

Crowded around an ancient willow, the godlings pointed and sneered. Eww! Gross. Look at it!

When the man approached, he wondered what they stood over; why they slapped a dusty old plank against the tree. Bored maybe, or curious; children always were.

What is that? one asked him, pointing. He couldn’t tell: it was mostly crushed, bulbous and oozing―all but destroyed.

I don’t know. . . said the man, squinting, humoring them.

It’s a cicada! one announced, proud. Wrong. A soul. Nothing to them, of course, but still, the man fought back his sadness.

Don’t look like one no more, he replied instead, before continuing on his path. What use was it to dissuade them? The cicada―the soul―was beyond repair. There would be others, he knew.

Crack! said the plank again. The cruelty, the giggles.

But the man was calm. He knew it would end soon enough; everything would. He’d seen it: a flash in the darkness, even chaos undone. Rue. Damned Rue, wreaking havoc, immune even from Death.

And damn Kyle most of all, for feeding the fire

Chapter 1 – Dream a Little Dream

"The rabbit, he won’t let me,

Go where I will go,

My family is under his spell,

And he lives in my home."

― Adriana Calloway

Winter has set in for more than a few months, here. Such a crisp and hard cold; void of life, yet chillingly alive. A naive nursery rhyme might deem it a winter wonderland. Fresh undisturbed snow still accumulates under a light flurry; a child’s paradise. Were it earlier in the day, a few would be building forts and snow-men, hurling snowballs between trees, and laughing all the while.

But the sun has long since set, and all the children are at home. Some drink hot chocolate to remove the deep chill from their bones, while others sleep soundly, dreaming sweet dreams. The wheels of daily life have all but stopped in this quiet little town, for all but a select few. For some, the frigid quiet is a welcome change to the normal fury of the day.

For Kyle, it’s paradise. Tonight, he sits on an old hill overlooking Tammond Dale, letting glistening flakes whiten his black knitted cap. The cap itself is new, something he never needed before moving to this secluded burg with his parents a few days ago. Kyle has never lived so far north, and the cold bit and froze viciously, something Kyle didn’t expect. As calm as the night seems, the malevolent weather taints the beauty of it like a dark shroud. He doesn’t care of course. Sitting atop Craig’s Hill staring down on the houses and streets as a regent or King, he is warm and alive.

Besides the absolute silence, forgetting the breathtaking sight below him, Kyle adheres to his routine. Even at his age, almost fifteen and chafing to escape puberty and the gawky awkwardness of teenage providence, Kyle is the brooding sort. Oddly enough, this has been the case for years and nobody―least of all Kyle―knows when the walking started. Every night excepting rain, Kyle is apt to wander whichever neighborhood seems interesting. Sometimes this was his own, but often it is blocks, or even miles away. One thing he did know: walking relaxed his mind, even as the exertion drained his muscles. No matter where his family has moved over the years, Kyle never deviates. Tonight, the most enticing location was an obvious though unusual choice, and opportunities present themselves in the strangest ways.

Just like the seemingly endless opportunities which kept his family on the road, veritable gypsies in a world seeking stability. Kyle didn’t want to brood over the unfairness. Leaving his friends year after year, trailing in his Father’s endless and vibrant wake. Brooding was all he could really expect to keep for himself, no matter where they landed. How many was it, now? Somewhere along the years, Kyle had lost track, and assumed the cycle continued even in his infancy.

Last week Kyle enjoyed his first day of school, something dreaded by children and teenagers alike. As usual, he arrived late in the school year; a more bitterly cold January, he could not remember. First impressions made their mark before the car even passed the Welcome to Tammond Dale, Pop: 462 sign. Kyle could only imagine what possessed his father to drag his beloved family to such a terrible and worthless place. Cold always trumps beauty, yes-siree. Freezing, inhospitable, oddly malignant; when can we move in?

Though initially truculent, the here and now is unquestionably beautiful. The very hill where Kyle sits presents a sweeping majesty over the vista below. Can’t discount that. So far, this was only one good thing, with at least four dozen other marks against the sleeping hamlet. No doubt about it, Kyle hated this place and resented living here already. Handful of days? So what. Get me outta here, man. Show’s over.

As with all things desperately craved by humanity, it wasn’t that easy. New jobs always did that for his father. Make a few more bucks, meet a few hot chicks you haven’t seen before and flirt just for the Jesus Razing Hell of it; live the life of adventure! Why everybody didn’t live like this, was anybody’s guess. It was the same story every time: get bored with sales at Wacky Widgets, take a promotion and shill for Stupendous Stuff. It didn’t matter what salary he made at the previous employer, what they offered him to stay, or even the desolation of their pleads. A couple of times, good ol’ Frank had been offered the Presidency of the entire sales department. What’s that, Jack? Nope, don’t wanna get tied down, gotta go and experience life. So long, and thanks for the memories. In the end, Frank always left as if Cerberus were hot on his heels.

By now, Kyle was sure his father was notorious in every company in The States. That didn’t stop them from hiring Fantastic Frank―as Kyle dubbed him like some kind of knight―immediately after he applied. Ser Fantastic Frank, Esq. It was impossible to ignore that Frank frequently performed sales miracles, and bled charisma. Any company lucky enough to have him often enjoyed a future flush with cash and investments. Nobody knew his secret, Kyle least of all. Through everything, Frank could always count on his coy and supportive wife Jamie. That thought always prompted Kyle to chuckle, as his mother was precisely the exact opposite of a shrew, as if her very existence were for Frank’s benefit.

Jamie Cemtes, loyal matriarch and completely spineless wonder, was Kyle’s loving mother. No doubt she was busy hand-crafting a new culinary masterpiece to try and impress Frank. It was a tired exercise at which she always managed to wildly succeed, with each increasingly overzealous attempt. She never seemed to care that Kyle was unfailingly late to her amazing dinners, so long as Frank uttered the customary Wow Jamie, when did angels learn to cook? Or did you teach them that, too? It was as if she were perpetually lost in her own little fantasy world that Frank was more than willing to encourage if it meant a docile and loving woman around the house. Yes sir! Frank sure was living the life of his dreams, Kyle thought bitterly.

His parents never fought, either. Maybe Frank was determined to have a happy and fruitful life, but problems never seemed to enter their collective consideration. Not that Kyle wasn’t above occasionally testing the tired cliché of teenage rebellion. They didn’t exactly ignore him, but the reality was unbelievably worse. They humored his little complaints, as if they knew each was half-hearted and merely an obligation of his age. Kyle sighs and shakes his head, dislodging a sheer cliff of powder that threatened to transform him into a snowman. Nowhere to go, nobody to talk to, nothing to do but sit on a cold snowy hill and contemplate life. And why not? His problems were admittedly small ones, and Kyle found it impossible to forge depression on such a blissfully refreshing night.

* * *

Hi, said the wind.

Hi. Kyle mumbled the word, too cold and immersed in thinking to look toward the sound that seemed like someone talking.

Hello? Hellooooo? Are you ok? Earth to Kyle! The voice, now easily recognizable as a girl’s, jarred Kyle from his contemplations.

Kyle’s eyes bulged weirdly and he lurched in the opposite direction of the unexpected stranger, simultaneously twisting his body and head toward whoever managed to sneak up on him. In the commotion, Kyle lost his balance on the icy rock and began slipping backwards. He pinwheeled his arms and threw his weight forward, attempting to scramble for purchase where there was none. In the end, he landed with a muffled thump into the fluffy powder, looking forlornly at the dry spot on the boulder and the haphazard skid mark he’d left while dismounting. Just above that spot where he’d expected to see nothing, was a teenage girl failing miserably to avoid laughing at his predicament. Strange how he didn’t expect to see a girl attached to the feminine lilt he heard earlier. By the way she stood, Kyle guessed she was reaching to pat his shoulder before he practically launched himself to the ground.

Hey now! It’s just me, Kyle! She laughed heartily, finally losing her inner battle to remain silent.

Wha. . . Adriana? I. . . I thought I was alone out here. Why didn’t you say something? His face starting to flush with embarrassment. What kind of idiot jumps away from every little sound, he wondered.

Still giggling to herself, she rolled her eyes at this. I know, I’m a big bad monster. You don’t have to run away, though! Spreading her arms, she spins a slow circle as if pointing at everything. "I come up here all the time," she finishes. Saying here as if there were no other place on Earth.

Kyle remains mired in snow, dumbfounded and beyond all logical thought. Maybe it was the cold, but his brain just didn’t seem functional, and wasn’t processing the words she spoke. Adriana rolls her eyes and proffers her mitten-encased hand, offering a small chuckle as Kyle stares blankly at and through her.

Oh. . . yeah. Heh, sorry. I guess I’m just too used to the city, he says with a shrug. Not used to benign people sneaking up behind me, I guess.

Grabbing at her hand and steadying himself with his other firmly planted in the snow, they both lever him back to his feet. Kyle looks sheepishly at his feet, hot with shame at such a triumphant display of cowardice. So far, Adriana is the only friend to be found in Tammond Dale outside of school. For some reason everyone else avoided her, so it only seemed natural for Kyle to introduce himself. That was earlier in the day, during lunch as she sat nonchalantly eating by herself. Besides the obvious desire to introduce himself to a pretty girl, Kyle thought she looked lonesome. That didn’t explain her presence here, though technically he was invading her discovery.

Hey! Stop daydreaming and say something! Do you like the view or not? She gestures down at the distant glimmering lights, flickering more with the falling snow.

Huh? Oh, yeah! I just found it today. . . I guess I like to wander a bit, he admits. No sense in trying to hide it, if he wanted to wander to this place again.

She smiles and turns toward the town, looking down with a smirk on her face. So, you decided to stay yet?

Yeah, like I have any choice in the matter. So far, this place seems as inviting as a kennel full of pitbulls is to a stray cat. I’m surprised you haven’t lost any limbs, living here so long.

She pulls her arm into her voluminous coat and undulates the flimsy sleeve at him. Oh, but I haaaaave! And now I want yoooours!

He retreats a couple of steps and waves his arms in front of him, shaking his head ’no’, finally loosening up and enjoying her company. Ha, ha. Funny. Besides, you don’t want my arms, you’d look pretty darn weird. For emphasis, he pulls his coat halfway up his arm and brushes the dark hair covering nearly every inch.

"Yeah. . . you’re right. Ape arms would look strange on a girl," she said, sticking out her tongue.

"APE arms?! He half shouted, half laughed these words. Hey now, I’ll have you know apes aren’t nearly as hairy. Now get over here and accept your noogie like a man!" He hissed the last, trying to raise her ire.

Who are you calling a man?! I guess that means you don’t want to go to my house and have hot chocolate. She made a pouty face at him, and turned as if to walk away, taking a couple steps before breaking into a run.

Kyle certainly wasn’t prepared for this development. Hey, wait up! I don’t know where you live! Hey! He started to run after her, not really knowing why, but it was all in good fun. Ten o’clock loomed ahead, but he knew his parents wouldn’t worry about him; they never did. She was interesting to talk to, and having one worthwhile person in town would certainly reduce his animosity toward the place. She had a good lead on him though and knew the terrain besides.

He shook his head and stared back at the direction she bolted. No use thinking, he had work to do! Hey, he huffed. I. . . don’t run that fast. Stop!

She stopped, looked back, presented her tongue again, and resumed her escape. She was making her way toward a copse of trees. Kyle groaned as he realized the inevitable; he’d lose her in there for sure. He kept running anyway, figuring she’d find him later when they were both tired, and they’d walk back out together.

Kyle’s lungs burned, scalded by rough undisciplined gulps of frigid air and overexertion. He slowed to a shuffling jog and trudged in a straight line, calling her name every few seconds, more to indicate his location than elicit any response from her. After a few minutes passed, more than a glimmer of doubt questioned her ability to hear him. Was she too far away? He finally stopped to catch his breath, wincing as the air continued to abuse his lungs. Kyle listened as well as he could over the raspy sounds of his harried breathing, trying to pinpoint Adriana’s movements.

A sudden eruption of blinding light and a hollow, dry cracking sound blasted away all of Kyle’s senses at once and sent him careening into the snow in hot agony. The world spun as Kyle crawled forward, digging his head into the snow and whimpering as he waited for his vision to cease sizzling. He collapsed, overwhelmed by exhaustion, cut off from his senses and immersed in torpid shock. He writhed in the snow, attempting to escape the blackness that had engulfed him.

Then it was gone. Just as quickly as he’d been wrapped in a crushing grip of confusion and disorientation, the feeling vanished. What the hell. . . damn that hurts! Shit!

He cracked his left eye open just enough to test his vision. The welcome sight of unmolested and completely ordinary trees greeted him. No more lightning, no fire. Kyle ambled to his feet, looking around for trees ignited by the lightning. What kind of crazy place has lightning during a light snow? Well, there goes another mark against the quaint little town.

Hey Adriana? You ok? Adriana? he bellowed into the forest.

He turned a few degrees and called for her again. Nothing. The forest seemed untouched by whatever struck him harshly to the ground, just as quiet as before. He couldn’t hear any running, but guessed she was too far away. That was it, right? And why isn’t anything on fire? That lightning must have been only a few yards from the flash Kyle witnessed in the middle of the forest; something should be engulfed in flames.

What the hell, he whispered, spewing small puffs of white fog into the cold air. Ball lightning? he wondered out loud.

He shook his head and went back the way he came. Maybe she did the same, and was waiting for him to escape the forest in fear of more lightning. That was certainly a danger! Trees attracted that kind of thing, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to stay there. No way. Tired or not, he ran all the way back to the rock he warmed before Adriana interrupted him. He turned back toward the trees and scanned the area slowly with his eyes.

Still nothing. No Adriana. Not even a distant and telltale crunch of boots compressing snow. No wind, no birds, and the snow had ceased falling. It was as if God just turned off the entire area. Aside from that, everything was completely pristine.

He called back into the forest, Adriana? You ok? Hey!

Nothing. Not a sound. In fact, he could barely even hear his own voice. Kyle’s head tilted to the right and his vision doubled momentarily. Alarmed, he shook his head and stared at the rock with rising horror. It wasn’t one thing now, but two. Everything was doubled, and worse Kyle was losing his equilibrium and his balance in the bargain. He sank to his knees before the mysterious intoxication sent him careening off the cliff. Why am I so tired?

The word tired was an understatement, and Kyle knew then he was in serious trouble. He was exhausted, consumed like flash-powder and fundamentally empty of strength. He slid bonelessly into the welcoming fluff around him which now seemed warm and inviting rather than cold and damp. But it was warm like death, and just as friendly. Kyle’s mind, what little remained conscious enough to understand the situation, screamed a warning in panic. Sleeping unsheltered in snow was bad, worse when the cause was unknowable.

Kyle of course was powerless to heed his mind’s frantic babbling. Sweet rest was calling him seductively away from everything. Eventually all resistance ebbed from his body and his mind as he inevitably lost the war. On that beautiful and tranquil hillock looming over Tammond Dale, Kyle lay sprawled in the cold as he would his own bed. Already his eyes moved back and forth, tracing complex patterns that marked the most glorious gift to all sleepers.

Kyle was dreaming.

Chapter 2 – Nightmare Land

"Which that false fruit that promised clearer sight

Had bred; then purged with euphrasy and rue

The visual nerve, for he had much to see;"

― John Milton, Paradise Lost

Dreams are an interesting and misunderstood space, littered with roaming phantasms of countless description and purpose, capable of caressing an unsettled mind or rending it utterly to tattered shreds. No realm hides more danger than that of dreams, yet visions and answers experienced here become relegated to storybooks, forgotten and underestimated. But reality is a fickle mistress, and ultimately bows and scrapes in feeble supplication when confronted with the arrival of sleep. Thus legends are born: The Sandman, The Boogeyman, Hypnus, Morpheus, avatars and specters great and small. All of these and more witness the hasty arrival of Kyle Cemtes as he bursts through the veil as if thrust by the Hand of God. So violently did Kyle appear, shockwaves warped the Dimension of Altered Sight to its very end; not one unconscious mind missed the subtle ripple, though none would remember.

The new arrival was engulfed in an imposing shroud and the message was clear: Kyle was a pariah, an untouchable and likely unwilling resident carrying with him a Parasite. None of this mattered to the boy, as every iota of recent memory lay obliterated by such rapid onset of slumber. Kyle’s lucidity returned gradually, hindered as the contents of his cranium still vibrated with shock. But that was really the only thing abnormal about the situation; once asleep and accustomed to the condition, the circumstances mattered little.

Finally his mind’s eye opened, and all Kyle could see was rubble of abandoned buildings haphazardly strewn over a desolate half mile. He could only guess at the extent, as everything was blanketed in a damp and patchy fog, drifting and obscuring structures mere yards ahead. The entire scene practically roared of exaggerated decay, mired in an aura of loss so complete, Kyle felt forlorn simply gazing upon the tiniest shattered brick. No matter where he looked, left or right, up or down, a foreboding halo radiated from the spectacle, draining his resolve and depressing his will. Cheery place, bring the whole family!

No matter the sheer calamitous potency leaking from every edifice, Kyle was pulled as iron to a magnet, and he walked. Each footfall drove a plume of dust around his battered sneakers. The displaced dirt produced not a light shuff, but the creaky echo of old boards long past the point of snapping. Faint hollow cracking noises filled the air, causing Kyle to suppress an urgent desire to scream. He slammed his eyes closed and simply breathed for a few rough seconds, refusing to move in fear of further disturbing the ground. But as always in times like this, other more arresting predicaments presented themselves and forced action.

A few feet to Kyle’s left, a dull and exaggerated metallic groan broke the silence he so desperately craved. It was followed swiftly by a high-pitched squeal, metal on metal at its absolute worst. Kyle froze where he stood and shook, his eyelids mashed so strongly closed he was mildly afraid of permanent damage to his eyes. The sounds of course continued, undaunted by Kyle’s outright refusal to acknowledge each bone-chilling creak and whine. His breathing collapsed to shallow rasps, each a truncated pant critically flirting with outright panic.

But as Kyle listened, an obvious pattern in the industrial sounds emerged: high squeak followed by a low struggling groan, driven by a sharp clinking. Kyle knew that succession of notes, though eerily distorted, as a playground swing-set. Essentially every child born within the last two centuries recognized that distinct and enticing melody. An authentic swing complete with steel supports and chains hanging from guide-loops into any one of a staggering multitude of saddles. God! Scared out of my mind by a swing. Dad would never let me live this down!

Kyle shook his head and opened his eyes, quickly turning his body to face the source of the unwelcome raucous. Just as he expected, a dilapidated swing stood in distinct contrast from the surrounding ruins. Thick with rust, one chain support dragged lazily in the dirt while the other grated loudly against the top loop, wailing hotly as the gritty rust and ancient iron clung together in protest. A thicker patch of mist engulfed the playground, though the harsh melody continued unabated. Invisible in the haze, light echoes of children as they giggled and played forced Kyle to gulp and hastily avert his scrutiny. An abandoned playground was one matter; ghost children frolicking there demanded undivided apprehension.

And yet it seemed he’d never lack another object or wonder to gaze upon here. After mentally retreating from the impossibility of a haunted playground, his eyes settled upon a larger building in the distance that failed to completely collapse upon itself. Though mottled by the pervasive gloom, one structure clearly stood apart. All around him were crumbled skeletons of houses and brick storefronts dashed to splinters and discarded heaps. Occasionally he’d catch the glimmer of broken glass embedded in the dirt, remains of doors with their hinges yanked halfway out, basements filled-in with a hazardous assortment of debris as the structure sagged and sank into the foundation. Most of the wooden construction had been effectively atomized, reduced to a thin pile of moldy planks perched over former crawlspaces, stone stairways reaching into yawning nothingness. Kyle was surrounded by unmitigated destruction and havoc as only time can inflict.

Yet among the devastation, the distant spire that caught his attention was remarkably untouched. Had Kyle been in school and someone finished elaborating such a scene, he would have immediately declared shenanigans to prompt any manner of proof. Though still blurred and opaque, a conspicuously intact building lurked about one hundred yards from his present location, seemingly mocking the less fortunate siblings that succumbed to the ravages of pitiless antiquation. Kyle could only imagine the rude gestures each would brandish at the haughty building, were any in a condition to complain. Arrogant or not, that single undisturbed bastion of solidity was undeniably his next destination. Searching each mass of wreckage would take countless days and likely reveal no clues beyond what he inherently and mysteriously knew: this was ancient ground. Everything he needed was straight ahead, a beacon amidst rocky shores.

When Kyle resumed walking, he winced slightly as the ground again bemoaned his passage with cracks and groans, lamenting even the lightest steps he could manage. Presently he forged ahead, forgetting any pretense he’d held about staying quiet. This whole place embodied sheer insanity, so why shouldn’t the ground react like a badly maintained hardwood floor? So what if fifteen horror movies worth of ghosts played tag a few yards to his left? Who cares if the entire environment painted a picture straight from the trusty cliché of an abandoned town? Nothing made any modicum of sense, so why not just stalk unashamedly toward the single aspect that resisted the established and twisted logic to which everything else adhered? All things considered, it made perfect sense.

But as he approached what was probably either a church or an old schoolhouse, he noticed his augmented sense of resolve wasn’t weakening the outright banal force the entire area exuded. He didn’t feel any safer emboldened by understanding and nonchalance. Worse, Kyle’s new bravado seemed increasingly manufactured and brittle, especially when he noticed the sky was darkening. He felt as if immersed within a rift in sanity, and things both sinister and malevolent lurked behind every pebble, awaiting an excuse or permission to consume his very being. It wasn’t just paranoia; he knew it was true as confidently as he knew his own name. There were no tentacled beasts or ancient horrors unknowable by Man in this place, no demons or even wraiths drifting in the fog. Something altogether more dire glared at and through him, prompting a very sincere and intense desire to hide.

Still he walked. Really there was nothing else he could do. There was no shelter from the crawling feeling through his body, for life lost all meaning and resembled an empty façade. Kyle’s only hope, the single thought drawing him forward to the apex in a sea of oblivion, revolved around blocking the infernal gaze boring through his soul.

* * *

Before Kyle covered half the distance to the mysterious sanctuary, his courage snapped like a toothpick supporting an anvil. Kyle was no stranger to fanciful or particularly egregious circumstances, but the oppressive weight of constant surveillance enveloped and consumed his attention. Constantly eliciting horrible clamor merely strolling through abandoned ruins had already taken its toll, yet every second exposed to that unyielding presence grated his frayed nerves. Kyle did not doubt, even considering his father’s hair-raising and oft repeated tale of a botched root-canal, he’d be much happier at the dentist.

It wasn’t fear which halted his short journey. Sure the sheer oppressiveness spirited the very air from his lungs, and nobody would question, witnessing his haggard lurches toward dubious salvation, that he radiated exhaustion. Presented with an abundance of perfectly valid reasons to quit walking, Kyle harshly plopped to the ground, stirring up a thick plume of swirling dust and a cacophony of stressed wood to yelp in exaggerated agony. Something was very wrong here. Kyle could never remember―from the day he transformed his father’s prized bowling trophy into shattered remnants, to when he’d nearly launched himself from a moving pickup truck after fiddling with the door handle―being more frantic or hysterical. Everyone lives through, and even triumphs over the occasional terror or trial, but when Kyle looked around and really saw his predicament, what he couldn’t see finally took shape.

What lay ahead, behind, and indeed everywhere was not esoteric or imperceptible, or even minutely deserving of analysis. It was hate. Loathing of the purest and most unadulterated hostility dominated the landscape and smothered beyond the capacity of the thickest fog. The familiarity struck him like a bolt of lightning, even causing him to sit a little straighter on the weird soil. Yeah, he’d been despised once upon a time. How could he have forgotten, after countless battles both mental and physical, the seething and ultimately impotent rage of Jim Doolan?

Kyle was the new kid, as usual, at Moonrise Elementary. Oddly enough, Jim wasted no time befriending the unfortunate waif before the more prominent bullies marked him for abuse. In reality Jim was duly marking his territory, taking dibs. Neither Kyle or Jim understood this at first, but as time passed, animosity settled in. Kyle wasn’t a social reject and he radically objected to nearly everything academic, but was something of an idiot savant when speaking to adults. For whatever reason, beyond any sense of logic, Kyle enjoyed easy rapport with several teachers. Years passed before he deciphered the numerous baleful glares directed at him while he chatted-up Mrs. Klein. Without experience to direct him otherwise, Kyle had unwittingly made himself the enemy of the entire school.

Nothing obvious came of this, however. None challenged him to a fight, and nobody directly accused him of being Teacher’s Pet. But there were little things. Always tiny nuances hide between the lines, where only the immensely perceptive unravel the truth. Kyle was almost famous for being oblivious, and equally likable. This presented a dual problem: poking fun at Kyle for speaking Adult was inevitable, and Kyle never understood the taunts. The entire situation was a wash for everyone, leaving only Jim angry at the attention his new friend constantly stole. The teachers all loved him, and all the other kids enjoyed the boring yet silly game of joking at his expense. To Jim, this was unconscionable.

The straw that finally broke the proverbial camel’s unfortunate spine was Jim’s 11th birthday party. Jim had few friends of his own, but he liked company and the gifts they