A hand shot out of the gloom behind me and clutched the dipper greedily, spilling half the water onto the hard-packed dirt floor. Slurping sounds belied his position in the opposite corner of the dark shed.
Now what?
“More.” He sounded a little better, not quite as raspy.
I took the dipper by its handle, and for a second I saw his hand. The fingers were burnt and blistered.
“What happened to you?” Once again, my curiosity outweighed my good sense.
He cleared his throat painfully, as if the tissue inside was as raw as the skin outside. “Fire.”
I backed out of the shed and filled the dipper at the trough again. This time, when I reentered, I leaned right into the corner and handed it to him. “I have to go to school,” I said. He didn’t spill it this time. “But the water faucet is around back, you can’t miss it. Just be sure to put the hose back into the holder so it drips into the trough—” I felt like a fool telling him all this, as if he were a guest or something. “My Dad will leave for the factory in a few minutes, and my mom will go to work, too. She’s a hairdresser in town. After that you can get your own water without being se—”
Was that the bus?
I willed myself to stop talking and start walking. “Umm, hey, mister . . . sir, whatever you are, please, no matter how hungry you get, please don’t eat my chickens!” I dashed to the front of the house, grabbed my lunch off the porch, and made it just as the bus came to a screeching stop.
YOU ARE READING
Chems ~ a short story (page one)
HorrorThe story of a boy who finds a chemical zombie hiding in the toolshed. The meeting will change his life, forever.
