seventeen₂ [s. harrington]

x i

Monday, 5 November, 1984

Steve and I drove all of the kids home, using Billy's car. Just to be nice, we dropped Max off last, leaving the car at her house. We decided to walk the rest of the way home. There was a shortcut through the woods, so it wouldn't take us that long.

"You know, I never thought we'd be that good at babysitting," says Steve.

"We watch Tim all the time," I say.

"Yeah, but he's one kid. Not four, and he doesn't try to save the world all the time."

"True," I say.

"Let me take you out sometime," says Steve. "I mean, the only times we've hung out are fighting monsters and watching your brother."

"I'd like that," I say.

Steve halts, so I stop too. He brings me closer to him, our faces inches apart.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"If you ask me to kiss you, I will," says Steve.

I smile. "Go ahead, then."

Steve leans down, brushing his lips gently against mine, but pauses.

"What?" I ask.

"Did you hear that?" he asks.

"Hear what?"

Steve pulls away. He continues down the path to our neighborhood. We're pretty close to home now.

"Where are you going?" I ask, following after him.

That's when I hear it. A whine, almost too quiet to hear. Labored breathing. It sounds like a hurt animal.

Steve stops, clapping a hand to his mouth. He's looking at something that I can't see until I catch up to him.

Oh my God.

There's blood everywhere. There's a child lying on the ground, so mangled and torn that I can't make out any distinct features.

"Mandy," says Steve, his voice hoarse.

He points a trembling finger at the child's feet. The shoes. Orange converse. There's only one person I know who would wear something like that. Oh, God.

Steve grabs me before I can collapse. My legs are shaking too much to support me. My body is racked with sobs.

"Mandy," says Steve. "Mandy."

I look up at him, his face blurry.

"Mandy," he says again. "We have to get him home. He's alive. He needs help."

I attempt to steady myself. Steve picks up Timothy's ravaged body. There's too much blood. How can he be alive? What could do such a thing to a child?

Demodogs. What else would be in the woods of a small town. We didn't have any mountain lions or wolves or anything. Besides, we didn't know where any of the demodogs were before we lured them to the junkyard.

"Steve," I say.

"Yeah?" he asks softly.

"It was the demodogs," I say, my voice cracking.

"I know. Can you go on ahead and call the hospital?" asks Steve.

I nod. I speed up, walking quickly, though I'm careful to avoid roots so I won't trip.

Thank goodness my house is unlocked. I hurry inside, not bothering to kick off my dirty shoes.

I dial the emergency number, waiting impatiently for someone to pick up.