Little Boy

Originally published in the 2019 Stonesthrow Review, which is not currently available online

For Vance

Henry’s mother always told him to be careful on Mill Road a few blocks over–it wasn’t a good place to ride a bike. She complained about the damn city and their inability to fill in the potholes that riddled the roads. But it was the most fun road for bike rides, and Henry couldn’t help himself.

The road was tree lined and the sun barely pushed through the gaps in the trees. Every time he sailed down the street and connected back into his neighborhood, he felt like he was holding onto a secret, one that made him brave and strong. Dodging the potholes made him feel like he was on a high speed chase, narrowly escaping bullets from an enemy. It was a different battle every day, against different opponents, though his favorite that his imagination always really ran away with was that he was narrowly escaping the grasp of the ghost of Mill Road.

His brother Ethan told him that the ghost was the real reason his mom didn’t want him to be on that road. According to Ethan, a family was driving and the little boy in the back seat was annoying his father so much that he turned around to yell at the boy while still driving, only to careen on a patch of black ice and crash the car, killing the boy instantly. Ethan said his ghost still walked down the street when other little boys were there causing trouble because he wanted someone to play with and knew a kindred spirit when he saw one. Henry’s parents said that ghosts aren't real, and Henry’s parents never lied to him, but Ethan was in second grade, and he knew a lot.

Today, Henry was a cowboy from the wild west, out on a mission to outrun the crooked cops. His grandma was watching a John Wayne marathon the last time he visited her, and he’d been obsessed with cowboys and cops and robbers ever since. He even talked his mom into getting him a cowboy hat. He wasn’t allowed to wear it while he was on his bike, so it sat in his basket, ready for the moment his helmet was off his head. His bike was his horse, and alongside him in his mind rode his band of runaways, taking law into their own hands.

“Come on, men, we have to go faster, the coppers are catching up!” He yelled, though the empty street offered no response aside from a whistling in the trees. He took that as a sign that his group was moving faster, and he pedalled as hard as he could on his army green BMX bike that he’d gotten for his birthday a few months earlier. He was swerving back and forth, avoiding the bigger potholes and bracing himself for the inevitable small dips in the road. He looked back for half a second to check if his best man, old Joe faithful, was still with him, and when he turned back he realized that he didn’t have time to swerve away from a giant pothole. His front tire caught on the edge of the bump, and he flipped off his bike and onto the ground. The bike scraped across his legs before stopping a few feet away from him.

The wind that was a sign to him that his imaginary companions were galloping alongside him seconds earlier picked up for a second and then stopped entirely. He was alone. Henry felt something wet on his forehead, and it dripped slowly down his temple and to the ground next to him. He was covered in a million scratches and felt bruises already developing where he landed on his arms and legs. He didn’t want to move—everything hurt.

This is why his mom told him not to come down this road. She was always right. He should’ve listened–there were so many roads that he could’ve chosen besides this one to play cowboy on. She was right and now he was here, causing trouble on a haunted road.

“You want to know what happens if you see the little boy?” Ethan had said when he told Henry about the ghost.

“Does he do something mean?” Ethan laughed so hard Henry started to laugh along too, just to keep up with his brother, even though he didn’t quite get the joke.

“Yeah, he does something really mean. You know, he’s lonely there on that street all alone after all these years. So if you see him and you’ve been causing trouble, he’s going to come and steal your life so that you can stay and cause trouble with him for forever.”

“Why would he kill someone just to have a friend? Making friends isn’t even hard!”

“It’s because he’s evil, Henry. He’s just an evil, stupid ghost. Evil, stupid things don’t make sense.”

“Oh. Okay.” Henry knew that Ethan was really smart, so he didn’t push it.

But maybe the ghost boy didn’t want to be Henry’s friend. Maybe he didn’t think Henry was a troublemaker.

Henry’s eyes were squeezed shut, and he didn’t want to open them, for fear of seeing the face of the ghost that his brother had warned him about.

Maybe this was the end. Ethan said that when you died there was some bright light that you would see, so Henry squeezed his eyes closed as hard as he possibly could. Maybe if he couldn’t see the ghost boy, if he couldn’t see the light, if he was perfectly still, then maybe he would be okay.

The wind picked up again, and in the rustling of the leaves he swore he heard someone laughing. Was it Ethan, making fun of him but coming to his rescue? Was it his mom, coming to yell at him for not listening to her? Was it the ghost boy, planning to kill him so they could be friends forever? Was it just the breeze? He couldn’t know unless he opened his eyes.

His mom told him it was important to be brave, but not to be stupid about it. He knew stupid was a bad word because his dad told him not to say it, but if his mom said it, it had to be okay. His mom and dad disagreed on a lot of things.

Ethan would probably say it was stupid to sit still and do nothing. Henry didn’t feel very safe lying there with his eyes squeezed shut so hard his head hurt. He tasted blood in his mouth from how hard he was biting his lip. The scrapes on his legs bled too, and the blood felt warm where it collected around the wounds and dripped toward the ground. The helmet he was wearing was pushing up into his chin, and he knew it would leave a mark. After taking stock of all these things, he knew for a fact he had to open his eyes and get home. If he stayed here, maybe he would bleed to death and be stuck with the ghost boy anyways. It would be stupid to not be brave right now.

A bark nearby pulled him out of his thoughts quicker than the crack of thunder from lightning inches away. His dad let him watch Ghostbusters on Halloween before going trick or treating, and the evil, devilish dogs terrified Henry. He was scared of dogs ever since, always afraid they would somehow turn out to be evil.

The dog barked again, this time very close to him, and Henry’s eyes shot open before he sprang to his feet. The adrenaline pumping through his veins ensured he felt none of the pain he should have.

All the things he’d built up in his head evaporated as he stood there on the side of the road, face to face not with a devil dog, but a petite old woman and her immaculately groomed cockapoo.

“Are you okay, little boy?” She asked, her watery eyes glancing at the scrapes covering his arms and legs.

“Oh, um, yes. Sorry!” Without another look at the woman or the dog, he picked up his bike and began wheeling it back down the street as quickly as he could, leaning on the handlebars to support his injured, limping legs.

He only had a few blocks before he had to have a story for how this happened. There was no way he could tell the truth.