The Screams of Dragons #6
He decided to show those children why he should not be bullied or taunted.
One by one, he showed them. Little things for some, like spoiling their lunches every day.
Bigger things for others. With one boy, he loosened the seat on his bike, and he fell and hit his head on the curb and had to go away, people whispering that he’d never be quite right again.
Bobby took his revenge, and then let the children know it was him, and when they tattled, he cried and pretended he didn’t know what was happening, why they were accusing him—they’d always hated him, always mocked and beat him, and the teachers knew that was true, and his tears and his lies were good enough to convince them that he was the victim.
Each time he won, he would hear the dragons scream again, and he’d know he’d done well.
Once he’d perfected his game, he played it against the Gnat.
For her eighth birthday, their parents gave her a pretty little parakeet that she adored.
One day, after she’d called him a monster and scratched him hard enough to draw blood, he warned that she shouldn’t let the bird fly about, it might fly right out the door.
“I’m not stupid,” she said. “I don’t open the doors when she’s out.” She scowled at him. “And you’d better not either.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. And the next time she let the bird out, he lured it with treats to his parents’ room, where the window was open, just enough.
He even helped her search for her bird. Then she discovered the open window.
“You did it!” she shouted.
She rushed at him, fingers like claws, scratching down his arm. He howled. His parents came running. The Gnat pointed at the window.
“Look what he did. He let her out!”
His father cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I left that open, sweetheart.”
“You shouldn’t have let the bird out of her cage,” his mother said, steering the Gnat off with promises of ice cream. “You know we warned you about that.”
The Gnat turned to him. He smiled, just for a second, just enough to let her know. Then he joined them in the kitchen where his mother gave him extra ice cream for being so nice and helping his little sister hunt for her bird.
The Gnat wasn’t that easily cowed. She only grew craftier.
Six months later, their parents bought her another parakeet.
She kept it in its cage and warned Bobby that if it escaped, they’d all know who did it.
He told her to be nicer to him and that wouldn’t be a problem.
She laughed. Three months later, she came home from school to find her bird lying on the floor of its cage, dead.
His parents called it a natural death. The Gnat knew better, and after that, she stayed as far from him as she could.
While his life outside Cainsville improved, his visits to the town darkened, as if there was a finite amount of good in his life, and to shift more to one place robbed it from the other.
He blamed Rose. After her dream of the dragon, she’d been nicer to him, apparently deciding it had been no more than a dream. Unlike Hannah’s power, Rose’s came in fits and starts, mingling prophecy and fantasy.
But then, after he did particularly bad things back home—like loosening the bike seat or killing the bird—he’d come to Cainsville and she’d stare at him, as if trying to peer into his soul.
After a few times, she seemed to decide that where there were dragons, there was fire, and if she was having these dreams, they meant something. Something bad.
Rose started avoiding him. Worse, she made Hannah do the same. He’d come to town and they’d be off someplace and no one knew where to find them—not until it was nearly time for him to go, and they’d appear, and Rose would say, “Oh, are you leaving? So sorry we missed you.”
Soon, it wasn’t just Rose looking at him funny. All the elders did. Mrs. Yates stuck by him, meeting him each time he visited, taking him for walks. Only now her questions weren’t quite so gentle. Is everything all right, Bobby? Are you sure? Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything at all?
It didn’t help that he’d begun doing things even he knew were wrong.
It wasn’t his fault. The dreams of golden castles and endless meadows had begun to fade.
It did not directly coincide with the first screams of the dragons, but it was close enough that he’d suspected there was a correlation.
When he stopped tormenting his tormenters and let the screams of dragons ebb, the dreams of the golden world continued to fade, until he was forced to accept that it was simply the passing of time.
As he aged, those childish fancies slid away, and all he had left were the dragons.
So he indulged them. Fed them well and learned to delight in their screams as much as he had those pretty dreams.
There were times when he swore he could hear his grandmother’s voice in his ear, calling him a nasty boy, a wicked boy.
And when he did, he would smile, knowing he was feeding the dragons properly.
But they took much feeding, and it wasn’t long before no one tormented him and there were no worthy targets for his wickedness.
He had to find targets and, increasingly, they were less worthy, until finally, by the time he turned twelve, many were innocent of any crime against him. But the dragons had to be fed.
That summer, his mother took him to Cainsville two days after he’d done something particularly wicked, particularly cruel, and when he arrived at the new diner, the elders were not there.
Even Mrs. Yates was gone. He’d walked to her house and then to the schoolyard, where they sometimes sat and watched the children play.
He found her there, with the others, as a group of little ones played tag.
When she saw him, she’d risen, walked over and said he should go to the new diner and have a milkshake and she’d meet him there later.
She’d even given him three dollars for the treat.
But he’d looked at the children, and he’d looked at her, standing between him and the little ones, guarding them against him, and he’d let the three bills fall to the ground and stalked off to talk to Rose.
He found her at her brother’s place. Rose was the youngest. A “whoops” everyone said, and he hadn’t known what that meant until he was old enough to understand where babies came from and figured out that she’d been an accident, born when her mother was nearly fifty.
This brother was twenty-nine, married, with a little girl of his own.
That’s where Rose was—babysitting her niece.
Bobby snuck around back and found the little girl playing in a sandbox. She couldn’t be more than three, thin with black hair. He watched her and considered all the ways he could repay Rose for her treachery.
“What are you doing here?” a low voice came from behind him.
He turned to see Rose, coming out of the house with a sipping cup and a bottle of Coke.
Like Mrs. Yates, she moved between him and the child.
Then she leaned over and whispered, “Take this and go inside, Seanna. I’ll be there in a minute, and we’ll read a book together. ”
She handed the little girl the sipping cup and watched her toddle off. Then she turned to him. “Why are you here, Bobby?”
“I want to know what you told the elders about me.”
“About you?” Her face screwed up. “Nothing. Why?”
He stepped toward her. “I know you told them something.”
She stood her ground, her chin lifting, pale eyes meeting his. “Is there something to tell?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”
She started to turn away. He grabbed her elbow. She threw him off fast, dropping the bottle and not even flinching when it shattered on the paving stones.
“I didn’t tell anyone anything,” she said. “I don’t have anything to tell.”
“Bull. I’ve seen the way you look at me, and now they’re doing it, too.”
“Maybe because we’re all wondering what’s wrong. Why you’ve changed. You used to be a scared little boy, and now you’re not, and that would be good, but there’s this thing you do, staring at people with this expression in your eyes and…” She inhaled. “I didn’t tell the elders anything.”
“Yes, you did. You had a vision about me. A fake vision. And you told.”
“No, I didn’t. Now, I can’t leave Seanna alone—”
He grabbed her wrist, fingers digging in as he wrenched her back to face him. “Tell me.”
She struggled in his grip. “Let me—”
He slapped her, so hard her head whipped around, and when it whipped back, there was a snarl on her lips. She kicked and clawed, and he released her fast, stepping back. She hit him then. Hit him hard, like a boy would. Plowed him in the jaw and when he fell, she stood over him and bent down.
“You ever touch me again, Bobby Sheehan, and I’ll give you a choice. Either you’ll confess it to the elders or I’ll thrash you so hard you’ll wish you had confessed. I didn’t tattle on you. Now leave me alone.”
“You think you’re so special,” he called as she climbed the back steps. “You and your second sight.”
“Special?” She gave a strange little laugh, and when she turned, she looked ten years older.
“No, Bobby Sheehan, I don’t think I’m special.
Most times, I think I’m cursed. I know you’re jealous of us, with our powers, but you wouldn’t want them.
Not for a second. It changes everything.
” She glanced down at him, still on the ground. “Be happy with what you have.”
He was not happy with what he had. As the year passed, he became even less happy with it, more convinced that Rose and the elders were spying on him from afar.
Spying on his thoughts. This was not paranoia.
Twice, after he’d done something moderately wicked, his mother got a call at work.
Once from Mrs. Yates and once from Rose’s mother.