Chad turned 50 shades of white, and
completely forgot about his broken toe when he turned around to confront
Harold. However, when Chad completed his turn, Harold had vanished.
“Harold,”
Chad said, his lower lip quivering like a horse begging for a carrot. When Harold didn’t respond, Chad took a deep breath, and said, “Harold, where are
you?”
Miss
Kitty walked Patches over to the shed, and tied her to a post. “Harold’s
probably upstairs in the attic,” she said, turning toward Chad, who looked like a lost lamb.
Chad
limped toward the shed. “I aint going into that attic,” Chad said.
“Why
ever not,” Miss Kitty said. “Are you afraid of ghosts?”
“I
aint afraid of nothing,” Chad said. “I just can’t walk up the stairs with
this broken foot.”
“I
don’t think your foot is broken, Chad,” Miss Kitty said. “You might have a
broken toe, though. At least Miss Patches didn’t chop off your head with a
chainsaw.”
Chad
rubbed his nose. Miss Kitty recognized the gesture, and she realized that Chad
didn’t smell like garlic; he had the cloying smell of Crank that comes from a
steady diet of methamphetamine. She shivered recollecting her battles with that
drug, and almost felt sorry for Chad.
“I’d
never hurt Harold,” Chad said, his sunken eyes filling with tears. “We’re brothers in arms. But there’s some kind
of demon in the attic. I warned Harold, but he never listens to me anymore on
account of Lilith.”
“Chad,”
Miss Kitty said. “Did you kill the demon in the attic?”
“Where’s
Harold,” Chad said. “I need to talk to Harold. I been taking care of his place
for him. Why didn’t he call me when he came home?”
“Where’s
Lilith,” Miss Kitty said.
Chad’s
face shifted. His stained and crooked teeth seemed to grow large, his lips
curled, and his eyes turned crimson. He looked like a demon.
“Lilith,
she was a witch,” Chad said. “But I took care of her, and the demon in the
attic. I did it for Harold. I did it to protect him.”
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