A Bad Night for Bullies Read online

  Text copyright © 2018 by Gary Ghislain

  All rights reserved.

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, please contact [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Boyds Mills Press

  An Imprint of Highlights

  815 Church Street

  Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-62979-677-2

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-68437-135-8

  Library of Congress Control Number: 201794846

  First e-book edition

  H1.0

  Designed by Barbara Grzeslo

  The titles are set in Bourton Base Drop.

  The text is set in Bembo.

  To Ilo, Sisko, and Elsa,

  my stars quivering above.

  “O people from the stars!

  I am a man by a river, gazing up.

  And how these stars quiver above.

  How these lights reach farther than

  I can see. And what of hidden things?”

  The Egyptian Book of the Dead

  1

  ACROSS THE BRIDGE

  My mum had been obsessing over Frank Goolz for weeks.

  “Come and meet him with me!” she called from downstairs. “I heard he’s a lovely man. Weird as a blue carrot, but still a nice chap.”

  “Heard where?” I yelled from my room, where I was sitting in front of my computer, Googling Frank Goolz and being even more obsessive than she was.

  “Heard everywhere,” she responded.

  I had a picture of him open on my computer screen. It was from an interview he’d done with the New York Times. He looked nice and approachable for such a literary superstar—a middle-aged man with messy salt-and-pepper hair, smiling gently and staring straight at me with intense blue eyes.

  “Harold!” Mum squealed. “I made a cheesecake. Please come along.”

  I pushed away from my desk and made a cool spin on my back wheels before going to the stairs.

  Mum was in the hall downstairs, cheesecake in hand. She was wearing her bright yellow raincoat and knee-high yellow rubber boots. She looked like a giant canary.

  “You’re going to see him dressed like that?” I asked.

  “Well, you’re still in your pajamas, you silly sausage,” she pointed out.

  “My dear mum, I decline your invitation,” I said, mimicking her British accent. My own accent had Americanized perfectly in the years since we moved from England to Maine. “I send you and your cake as my ambassadors. Welcome him to our shores and remind him to stay away from the quicksand at low tide.”

  Mum and I were binge readers and our house was an ever-growing library. When we heard that Frank Goolz had bought the house next door, we went to our favorite bookstore in Bay Harbor and ordered a dozen of his horror novels. We devoured them as they came in, lying side by side on the sofa and reading the scariest bits aloud.

  “Why won’t you come? You love his books,” she said, opening the front door. “Just come and tell him that. He’ll be delighted.”

  “Nah, I’m fine.” I pressed the button and played with the stair lift, sending it down and bringing it back up. I was dying to meet him and tell him I loved his novels. They were great stories of creepy old mansions, eerie attics, cursed Voodoo dolls, and murderous mummies in exotic places. They were scary and exciting and full of the type of adventure I dreamed I could be a part of. But that’s exactly why I was resisting meeting him in real life. He was an adventurer. A traveler. A mystery hunter. A man of a thousand legends and almost as many books. And I was just a boy in a wheelchair.

  Mum finally gave up and left the house with her cheesecake. I went back to my room and up to the window, where I had a perfect view of the house next door. I looked down and saw Mum crossing the small bridge across the stream that separated our properties. I don’t know who built that bridge or why. The stream is so tiny you could just jump across. I mean I couldn’t jump, but a lot of people could.

  Mum knocked on the door and waited a long time for him to answer. She was about to knock again when Frank Goolz finally opened the door.

  I lifted myself up in my chair to get a better look. He was dressed elegantly in a white shirt and black trousers, but I could see he was barefoot. He looked exactly like the pictures I’d found online.

  He grabbed the cheesecake as Mum babbled away. She couldn’t stop talking when she was nervous. I smiled as I watched her blushing as red as poppies in spring. And then I stopped smiling because I realized I was being observed too.

  Two girls were in Frank Goolz’s yard, looking up at me. The smaller one waved. It took me a couple seconds to wave back. The older one said something I couldn’t hear and smiled at me. She was about my age, or maybe a little older—like thirteen, tops.

  I shoved away from the window fast, face burning. My Google search hadn’t told me that Frank Goolz came with two girls (and possibly a wife).

  I sat in the middle of my room for a while, feeling incredibly silly. Finally I decided to change out of my pajamas.

  I threw my clothes on my bed, hoisted myself up, and snaked my legs into my jeans. Once I was dressed, I went back to the stairs and pressed the button for the lift. I slid my bum into it and pushed my chair down the stairs, letting it fall freely. I did that only when Mum wasn’t home. When she was around, she either carried the chair down for me or forced me to hold on to it while going down on the lift. She was sure that I was eventually going to break the chair by throwing it down the stairs. She also complained that I was scratching up the steps and walls. Plus, sometimes my chair landed on its wheels and rolled out of reach, trapping me on the lift. Which was exactly what happened that time.

  Mum came back in the house, and saw me stranded. I almost wished that I’d tried to slide off the lift and crawl to my chair, but the last time I did that, I’d crash-landed right on my face.

  I unbuckled the seatbelt from the lift. “The chair, please,” I said.

  It took her a couple seconds to decide not to lecture me.

  “That was fast,” I said, sliding into my wheelchair. “Didn’t he invite you in to share some of your cake?”

  Her cheeks were still glowing from her encounter with our famous new neighbor.

  “He said he was busy with something, the ungrateful goose,” she said. “Did you know he has two daughters?”

  “No, I didn’t.” I pulled my jacket off its hook in the hall, put it on, and raced out like the house was on fire.

  It’s hard work pretending not to be interested in something you’re really interested in. Mum had installed concrete paths all over our yard so I could move around. One path led to the bridge, but that was pretty useless, because on the other side there was nothing but sand and plants, and sand isn’t really my thing. I pretended I wasn’t interested in the Goolz’s new home and went in the other direction, but I took a peek sideways to see if the girls were still in their yard. They were gone.

  I climbed the little hill to our shed and stopped short right in front of it, where I could see all the way to the water. It was low tide, and the ocean was far away. The girls were on the beach, looking down at something and scratching the wet sand with a stick. After a minute they stood and walked along the beach toward the pier. I called for Mum, and she popped her head out the kitchen window.

  “Do we need bread?” I asked casually.

  “Not really,” she said. And then she thought about it. “Do you want to get bre
ad? Fresh bread’s always nice.”

  The bakery in Bay Harbor and its fresh whole-nut bread was one of our favorite things. That, and a stroll to the bookstore.

  “I can get fresh bread,” I said, like I was doing her a favor.

  She came out with her purse. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  I took a few dollars and told her I was fine. The Goolz girls were already almost to the boardwalk.

  I started wheeling at top speed and reached the road in no time. I saw Frank Goolz through his window and waved, but he didn’t wave back. I think he was eating some of the cheesecake.

  “Ungrateful goose,” I muttered.

  2

  FRESH BREAD’S ALWAYS NICE

  I was a cool kid. I dressed OK. I had true grit and tons of attitude. If I were standing up, walking like everybody else, no one would ever pick on me. But in my wheelchair, I was Alex Hewitt’s favorite mark. He was a genuine Bay Harbor bad boy. And the dictionary definition of the perfect idiot.

  The first time Alex Hewitt saw me, his mouth opened wide, and his eyes got all big and excited. Guy in a wheelchair! The concept was a real whopper for him. And then he realized I wasn’t from Maine, or even American—that I came from England and my mum talked weird. I was a bully’s ultimate unicorn, and his brain started hatching all sorts of evil plans to make my life miserable whenever my mother wasn’t around.

  Alex had succeeded in making my life miserable plenty of times. At school, outside school, wherever he and his friends managed to corner me. He seemed to spend his life waiting for me to show up. Mum knew it. She went to see his father lots of times when I came home with my face bruised or my clothes torn. Or that time I got stuck on the beach because Alex and his friends pushed me into the sand and ran away with my chair to see if I could escape the tide all by myself. I’d been told that Alex’s father gave him hell every time my mother went to his house to complain. Alex must have thought that torturing me was worth the trouble.

  I was trying not to think about him, hoping he and his friends were busy elsewhere, torturing something else weaker than them. I was going fast to catch up with the girls, and running all sorts of scenarios in my head. I would say hello. They would say hello back. Then we would be friends for life. I had a funny feeling, like I didn’t want them to see me and realize that I was special needs. But I did want them to see me for a bunch of other reasons.

  “Oh, crap,” I said when I saw Alex and his friends sitting on a bench by the town square, smoking cigarettes. I kept heading straight for the pier, which was a bold move. I knew exactly what they would do if they saw me. Trapping me on the pier was a Sunday Super Jackpot for bullies. I mumbled some choice words under my breath and reached the pier at medium to high speed.

  The Goolz girls were sitting right at the end, hanging their legs over the edge, and looking down into the water. I glanced over my shoulder. Alex and his gang were heading my way, and I was pretty sure they weren’t coming to take a good look at the water. I shivered. I never dared to go onto the pier without my mother when those goons were around. I wasn’t sure how far they were willing to go. Would they really throw me in the freezing water? Would they even hesitate? Would they care if I drowned?

  And then the girls stood and walked off in the other direction. I was risking my life to meet them, and they didn’t even notice me. But by then, I had too much momentum, and there was nowhere else to go, so soon the boards of the pier were beating a fast rhythm under my wheels. I must have looked like I wanted to roll right off the edge and fly away.

  But just before the edge, I came to a stop and waited. There was no way I was getting away from them now. Alex and his friends deliberately made a ton of noise catching up with me. They even howled. It was a total lose-lose situation. I’d lost the Goolz girls and gotten a pack of bullies instead.

  I spun around and set the brakes on my chair. I was trapped. They were in a line all the way across the pier, with Alex in the center. He wasn’t even the tallest or the biggest in their gang. He was small and thin and dressed in worn-out clothes and beaten-up shoes. It was his limitless cruelty that made him the boss.

  “You waiting for the ferry, English boy?” he shouted. “It doesn’t run on weekends.”

  “I came for the view.”

  That made them laugh for some reason. There were five of them, Alex’s entire army of thugs.

  “He’s not here for the ferry. He wants to go for a swim,” Peter said. “Right?”

  Peter, also known as Pit Bull, was second in command. Unlike Alex, he was massive, his body already as big as an adult’s. He was the muscle, the one to hold the victims down while Alex punched them and the others watched and laughed. If Alex pushed me off my wheelchair on the beach, Pit Bull would be the one to throw it out of my reach.

  “A swim?” Alex nodded, his eyes boring into me. “Brilliant.”

  He leaned down and pressed his hands on the arms of my chair, pushing it back a little. He always went for the chair. Even after a couple years of seeing me in it, he still seemed to think I used it just to annoy him.

  “Want to see the water real close, English boy?”

  “Dude! There’s people watching,” Ronny said worriedly. He was the weak link in their gang. He was even smaller and thinner than Alex and most of the time just stood by, clearly wishing he were somewhere else.

  “That’s good, Ronny-boy,” Alex said. “They’re going to enjoy the show.”

  Alex’s face was practically touching mine. He was getting so excited, I’m sure his mouth was watering. He turned to his friends. “You think he’s gonna float?”

  “I can’t swim.” I hated how my voice sounded, like I was pleading when I should have told him to go to hell. “If you push me off, I’ll drown.”

  “You won’t drown. You’ll float, English boy.”

  He twisted the chair around and pushed me toward the edge. I grabbed at the wheels helplessly. They weren’t turning, but the chair kept sliding toward the fall. “Stop!” I yelled.

  But that got him even more excited. He gave my chair little pushes, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

  “Hop! Hop! Hop!” he said, tilting my chair toward the water while his friends cheered and laughed.

  “Push him!” Peter said. “He can’t walk, but he can fly.”

  I clung to the rims as tightly as I could as I started sliding off the seat. Thirty feet below, angry waves hit the pier with foamy, brown, icy water. They would swallow me in seconds. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. But I tried too hard. A tear ran down my face and dropped into the waves.

  “You stop that right now,” someone said, loud and clear.

  There are many ways to meet someone. When I met Ilona Goolz, I was in quite a pickle. The second Alex righted my chair and let go, I released the brakes, grabbed the wheels, and moved away from the edge, my heart thumping painfully against my chest. She was standing in front of the boys, her little sister by her side.

  “Are you all right?” she asked me.

  I immediately liked her voice, even before I learned to love it. I nodded. I didn’t want to speak. I was scared my own voice would come out all weak and shaky.

  “You witless, fart-grade idiots!” her little sister said to the boys. She pointed a finger at Alex and spoke a couple foreign, guttural words that sounded like a gypsy curse.

  “What’d she say to me?” Alex asked, taking a step away from her.

  “She said you’re a moron,” Ilona translated for him. “That goes for your friends, too.”

  “We’re no morons.” Alex looked around at his friends and spat on the pier, trying to look manly. “We were just having fun. It’s not like we were really going to throw him in the water. We just wanted to scare him a little.”

  He was getting uneasy. She was staring at him, her long black hair hiding half her face. I took in her black dress, her coat, her huge blue eyes, the certainty in her voice, the tension in her body. I’d ne
ver seen such a beautiful creature. And I was absolutely sure Alex had never seen a girl like her either.

  “That’s the difference between you and me,” she said, starting to walk toward him. “I’d have no problem pushing you over the edge.”

  His face became a huge question mark as she powered forward. A wave of panic went through the other guys and they scrambled out of her way. Even giant Peter did an awkward one-two-step sideways. It was way too late when Alex realized she wasn’t bluffing.

  He shouted, “No!” and screamed as she bulldozed him right over the edge. His scream went on for a surreally long time. It was a serious fall from the pier to the water. Then we heard him splash hard into the waves.

  Ilona’s little sister went all the way to the end to look down.“He’s not floating,” she said flatly.

  I didn’t want to go and see. I never wanted to be close to that edge again. Alex’s friends didn’t move either. They didn’t charge at Ilona. Or yell at her. I guess even bullies recognize danger when they see it.

  She finally nodded, giving them permission to move, and they ran past her to kneel at the edge. “Keep swimming!” Peter shouted, his voice high-pitched with panic.

  The two girls came up to me. They looked pretty calm for people who had just done the unbelievable.

  “I’m Ilona Goolz,” Ilona said over the gurgling echoes of Alex’s screams. We shook hands. “I believe I’m your new neighbor.”

  3

  A PLUM TOO HIGH

  When I was seven and we had just immigrated to the States from England, I stepped up on an old garden chair to reach for a plum on a high branch. I was just about to grab it when, poof, the chair collapsed under my feet and broke into a thousand pieces. I flew backward and cracked my back on a rock. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the grass, looking up at blue sky through branches. I didn’t call for help. I didn’t yell. I just stayed there, half my body completely numb, until Mum found me. “You don’t need to cry,” I told her. “It was a really old chair.”