The Boy with Words for Skin

Chapter 1: Pinprick

    "Boy. Keep it down. Rope's still sleeping."

    There were five beds in our room, but only Boy, me, and The Boy with Rope Limbs still slept in there. The other two beds were bare.

    At four years old, The Boy with Rope Limbs was the youngest in the house by far, and I think living there was the hardest on him, too. He didn't talk much and usually just wanted to be held. He always had a hard time falling asleep, so I didn't want to wake him up. He looked peaceful when he slept and that poor kid could use all the peace he could get.

    Boy lowered his voice, but only a little. "What number is it?"

    Telling time from inside 407 West Marshall Street was tricky for a couple of reasons. The first being the fact that there were no windows. The second reason was because electronics didn't work inside the house. The only thing I could think to do to tell time was practice keeping track of it in the back of my mind. I stashed a digital watch in a plastic baggie in the bushes outside the front door and checked it every once in a while. Before I'd check the watch, I'd guess what time it was. I'd gotten really good at it, too. For the past couple of weeks I'd been within five minutes every time.

    "It's only a little after six," I said. "In the morning. We got all day until we have to go."

    "You're wrong." His voice got louder again.

    I squeezed my pillow. He always got this way on the weekends, impatient and bratty. I know he just wanted to see everyone, but that was what was so awful about it. He didn't get why they wanted us to visit them only once a week. He didn't notice how Mom and Dad didn't hug him back or how they avoided even looking at him. It made me sad and tired and mad to see how excited he'd get for family dinner, how he didn't understand what was going on. I thought about explaining it to him, but I didn't know which was worse, telling him or not telling him.

    "I'm not wrong." I did my best to keep from raising my voice. It was hard. "Go back to sleep for a little while. It'll help the time go by faster."

    "You're a liar."

    I jerked. I'd never heard him so angry, and he'd never called me a liar, either.

    I turned around and stared at his chest. I couldn't look at his neck, not with the way it sat there, open. You could see the bone and muscle and the hole get bigger and smaller as he breathed. It made my throat feel like it was being pinched shut. "What did you just call me?"

    "You're a liar. It's not morning. You just don't want to go!"

    He was right. I didn't want to go. I'd never told him that, though. I felt a sting of guilt and wondered what else he'd picked up on. But I wasn't lying about the time. I wouldn't do that to him, no matter how much I hated family dinners.

    "Boy," I said. I tried to keep my voice soft. "I'm not lying. It's still morning."

    "You want to make us miss dinner!"

    "Boy, you need to calm down." I glanced over at Rope's bed. It looked like he was still asleep.

    "It's time to go home! I want to go home now!"

    I sat up, my heart pounding as I felt the anger rising in me. "Boy, you need to quiet down."

    "You're mean! I want to go home!"

    Something in me snapped. I felt it, like a popped knuckle. "You are home! This is your home now!"

    "I want to go to my real home!" He punched the side of my bed. The Headless Dog growled at me. "I'm going! You can't stop me!" Boy's voice was wild with anger and fear. He darted across the room, threw open the door, and ran out, The Headless Dog racing alongside him and barking.