The Boy the Boat and the Beast Read online

  The ocean had swelled too. Rolling waves paced off the coast like they were searching for the right moment to strike. The moment when they could drag the boy down to the biggest monster of all . . .

  watching . . .

  waiting . . .

  patient.

  As the sun crept lower, the boy looked out for his rescue. But the beach held nothing except sand and rocks, sand and rocks.

  Until he saw it. Something else, something new. Something small and gray bobbed up and down at the edge of the water.

  He couldn’t make out what it was. A hurt animal, maybe? It was moving. Sometimes it was short and fat, like it was trying to hide; then it would be hit by a wave and stretch long and skinny, as though it was reaching for the sand, reaching for safety.

  The boy stepped closer, but not too close. Maybe the monster under the sea was trying to seize the gray thing too. His stomach twisted—for him and the thing.

  “Stay with me.” Words filled the air around the boy, and the pain in his head suddenly pulsed white hot. He clasped it with his hands as he whirled to see who spoke, but he couldn’t spy another person. This voice wasn’t the bully in his head. It was older, softer. A woman. It had felt warm and familiar, and the boy wanted to catch it and hold it close.

  “Hello?” he called.

  But the voice didn’t respond. Had it come from the thing in the water? The boy peered closer.

  “Don’t go.” The woman’s words returned, dancing around him. “Stay with me.”

  “Who are you?”

  Again no answer came, and no one else was on the beach. Except the gray thing.

  The pain in his head dissipated, and the boy straightened. “Did you say that?” he called out, but the thing didn’t reply, just shifted and curled in the tide. Maybe the voice had wanted him to help.

  “You can’t help that thing.” Laughter tinged the bully’s words.

  “I might.”

  “The water will get you.”

  The boy gulped. The bully had a point, but if the gray thing needed his help, he couldn’t ignore it. It was small; it needed protection.

  Those words grew up from deep within his bones. Familiar and strong. The smaller something is, the more it needs protection.

  How did he know that?

  He couldn’t say, but he knew he had to protect the gray thing before the monster in the sea ate it. If he was quick, ran lightning fast, maybe he could rescue it without getting pulled below. “I have to try.”

  The boy stepped closer, keeping his toes away from the greedy ocean. The gray thing drifted onto the edge of the sand, then was pulled back out again. In. Out. In. Out. Each time, it reached a little farther inland, then was sucked back out to sea.

  “Let it go!” the boy shouted. “It doesn’t want to be with you. It wants to be here with me. Leave it alone!”

  The ocean carried the thing into shore—closer, closer.

  “Yes! Come on!” The boy jumped up and down, waving the thing toward him.

  But the water was just teasing. The thing began to float back out.

  “No!” The boy stepped into the tide and felt the tug on his toes.

  “You’ll get dragged in.”

  “But it’s so close.” He took a deep breath, then lunged, grabbing a piece of the gray thing in his hand.

  “I’ve got it!” he cried, and turned to escape back up to dry sand.

  His foot stepped on a piece of slippery seaweed and slid out from under him. He tried to stay upright, but the water jerked his other leg away. He landed flat on his back in the wet sand.

  The low tide crashed over his face.

  “Hold on!” he screamed to himself before the ocean filled his mouth.

  The water receded, yanking on the boy’s wrists and feet. The sand under him slinked away, and he felt himself begin to sink. Fear crawled back into his chest. He was caught. Stuck! He had to get away.

  With his fist still clamped around the gray thing, the boy gulped air and closed his eyes. He held his breath as water rushed over him again.

  “Trust me. Jump!” The voice floated to the boy, watery and distant. It wasn’t the bully or the woman, but someone else—someone angry.

  The boy opened his eyes. He wasn’t holding the gray thing anymore. His hand was clasped around a metal bar. And instead of sand, he was surrounded by pink rectangular tiles.

  “Come on,” said the voice. It sounded deep, impatient. “Jump.”

  A wave beat against him and he gasped, choking in a mouthful of sand. He was back on the beach, stuck in the tide. No more metal bar or pink tiles, just sand and water. And the water tugged at him, the long arms of the monster from the deep pulling the boy into its depths. He couldn’t let it take him.

  The boy clawed his way out of the tide, dragging the gray thing behind him. Finally free, he ran back to his favorite spot in the sand. Dry and safe. He lay on his back, his arms and legs sprawled out, soaking in the last rays of the welcoming sun.

  He breathed deeply. He had done it. The ocean had tried to take him, tried to suck him down. But he had escaped . . . this time.

  He didn’t ever want to go near the water again.

  He shivered, thinking of its grip on him. And the voice. The angry voice. The pink tiles and the metal bar. Where had they come from? He searched what he could remember, in case it was a memory like the refrigerator, but he couldn’t coax more out. Was it something to do with the gray thing?

  The boy sat up and pulled the thing onto his lap. “Are you all right?” he asked, straightening the edges, then he frowned. It wasn’t an animal at all. He was staring down at a ragged blanket.

  “A blanket!” The bully laughed. “You did all that for a blanket?”

  “I like the blanket.”

  “You would, baby.”

  The boy ignored the bully’s taunt. The blanket didn’t give him a clue about the pink tiles, but it still pleased him. “Maybe I have one back home,” he said.

  “Aww. A little baby with his blanket.”

  “I’m not a baby. You’re just jealous because you can’t have it.”

  “Ha! Yeah, that’s what it is.”

  The boy shook his head and focused on his prize.

  The blanket was soggy and frayed but not gray, like he had first thought. It was a very pale blue, like the sky early in the morning before the clouds settled in. The color was masked in places by stains, big purple and brown splotches, like the blanket had been beaten by something much bigger. One corner was torn, another had a great gash, and threads peeled away at the edges. If the boy pulled one, the whole blanket might come apart. He was careful not to pull any.

  The cold, wet material was soft between his fingertips, harder in the stained areas. Its smoothness felt familiar; it stirred his heart, but he didn’t know why.

  All he knew was the blanket comforted him, and for that, he loved it.

  FAMILY

  THE BLANKET WASN’T BIG, BUT if the boy curled up, it could cover him. It could be his armor, his shield, his protector.

  He lifted its middle so the fabric ballooned out below. He smiled. It could be a tent, a giant circus tent for fleas. Or it could be a floppy wizard’s cap; he wrapped it around his head with a grin. Or it could be a flag, and he waved it high.

  “I claim this beach in the name of King Blanket.” He giggled.

  Or it could be—

  A scuffling noise made the boy jump. Wind riffled the leaves and he dropped the blanket. Was it the beast? The Wolf that maybe lived in the trees? He thought he could smell something awful. Or was it the terrible birds come to attack him again?

  He stumbled, tripped, and fell. His heel had caught a rock, partly hidden by sand, and running from it were two crabs, each no longer than his hand. They were so pale in color, they almost blended into the sand. They must’ve been near the rock, the boy thought, and they must be running from him.

  “No, don’t go!” He waved at them. “I’m not scary.” But the crabs hurried in
to a hole. They were probably friends. Proper friends, not like the bully and him. Friends who helped each other.

  The boy could use a friend.

  The scuffling started again, closer this time, and the boy froze. The noise was coming from the rock. The scuffling turned into scraping, and next to the rock, grains of sand flipped into the air, making a tiny, dusty fountain. The boy shuffled backward and stared.

  “It won’t be good, whatever it is.”

  “How do you know?” He clenched his fist in case the bully was right.

  “Just do. It’ll be scary, or terrible—or scary and terrible. You don’t want to see it.”

  The boy’s insides twisted. But whatever was making the noise, it had to be small. And he could run from something small.

  Down on his knees, he peered around the rock. On the other side, almost out of view, was another crab. It was smaller than the others, barely as long as the boy’s finger. He knelt closer and watched. The fountain sprayed higher as the crab’s legs clawed the sand. It was trying to do its sideways dance, but it wasn’t going anywhere. One of its legs must have caught under the rock, and now the crab was trapped.

  “Told you it’d be terrible.”

  “It’s not terrible,” the boy said. “It’s cute.” He stared at the crab. “Hi.” The crab’s pincers snapped at the air.

  “Watch out! Those things will hurt. Take your finger right off.”

  “They will?”

  “What do you think?”

  The boy wasn’t sure, but just in case, he stayed back.

  This crab was so small, and the words etched in his bones came back to him. The smaller something is, the more it needs protection.

  “What do you need protection from?” the boy asked the crab. “Not me. I won’t hurt you. In fact, I can help you. . . . Maybe.”

  The boy eyed the raised pincers and itched to run away, but the crab needed his help. He couldn’t leave it here alone—like him.

  “Once upon a time,” the boy whispered, “there was a boy who couldn’t be hurt by a crab bite.”

  He stretched out his hand but quickly pulled back when the crab’s pincers came close.

  He bit his bottom lip. Now he needed help. He turned back to his place on the beach and saw the blanket, lounging on the sand. He smiled thinly, ran to it, then tied two of the corners around his neck and let the fabric flow behind him. It could be a cape.

  “The brave knight had hands like steel. . . .” The boy strode to the other side of the rock, away from the crab and its pincers. “And he saved all the crabs in the land from the evil rock monster.”

  Carefully, the boy wrapped his arms around the rock. He remembered the pain he had felt when he’d pressed down after he first woke up. Would this make it worse? He had to try. Holding his breath, the boy heaved upward. His arm burned, but he kept the rock high until the crab scuttled a few steps away. Then the boy dropped the rock back onto the sand and rubbed the soreness in his arm.

  The crab turned to the boy and raised both its pincers, but they didn’t snap.

  “You’re free,” the boy said.

  The tiny crab didn’t move, but the two bigger crabs crept out of their hole. Hurrying to the smaller one with their pincers held high, they corralled the tiny crab across the sand back toward their hole.

  Like protectors.

  Like parents.

  The boy straightened. Parents. The crabs were a family.

  “We love you.” It was the woman’s voice again, twirling through the air.

  “We miss you, kiddo.” And another voice! Deeper. A man. They lit a spark of memory—and the throbbing in his head once more.

  “Mom,” he whispered, wishing he could concentrate on the voices without the pain. “Dad.”

  Yes, he had parents! The realization coursed through him as he pushed the pain out of his head. These were their voices. But how could he hear them if they weren’t here? Or were they?

  “Mom?” he shouted. “Dad?”

  But there was nothing. No one. They’d been pulled out of some memory, he guessed. He wished they’d been a solid memory like the refrigerator.

  The boy closed his eyes and could feel their love. The way his mother squeezed his hand in hers. The way his father patted his head. He couldn’t see them, not clearly. But he could see parts. His mother’s dark eyes, and her mouth pulled into a grin so wide, it showed the one crooked tooth that stuck out from the others. His father was more vague. The boy couldn’t see his hair or his eyes, just his lips that smiled when he said, “kiddo.”

  The boy’s eyes snapped open.

  Was kiddo his name? It felt more familiar than Dude Duds, but . . . The boy shook his head. It wasn’t right. Not completely.

  Where were his parents now? At their home waiting for him? Out somewhere looking for him?

  He closed his eyes and tried to picture them again. Were they tall? Short? Was their hair curly like his? He wished he knew. He wished he could see them, just once. No, if he was going to be honest, he wished he could see them all the time—be with them, touch them, forevermore.

  But once would be better than nothing.

  “Soon,” the boy whispered. They would find him and protect him, just like he had protected the crab.

  The boy stood and the parent crabs darted into their hole. But the kid stayed out and stared at its rescuer.

  “It’s all right,” the boy said. “I won’t hurt you. You could be my friend. If you want.”

  “Friends with a crab?”

  “He’s nicer than you.”

  The crab peered at the boy . . . then skittered into its home.

  The boy was alone again. The cheer he’d felt from saving the crab and remembering his parents drained into the deep sand below his feet.

  Even the sun was leaving him. It was kissing the sea good-bye, and the sky had blushed red. The Green Wall was already turning black, just the lit-up eyes blinking in the darkness, but they weren’t friends.

  The boy had been on the beach for a whole day, and no one had come for him and he had nowhere to go. All he had were wisps of memories, but they weren’t a home. He wished he had a hole like the crab family. But he was alone, at night, when any monster could get him.

  As the waves snuck up higher, his stomach twisted. He clutched the blanket around him, hoping the waves wouldn’t find him in the dark. Hoping his one comfort could protect him.

  “You think that’s going to save you, some flimsy bit of fabric?”

  The boy sighed; he was probably wrong to hope. But the blanket was all he had. It had to help him. He needed it to.

  “It’s not a blanket; it’s a cave,” the boy said, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “A pirate cave hidden so well that no thieves can find the treasure.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” the bully said, laughing.

  And the boy did. He whispered it deep into the night, as the stars twinkled overhead and the moon watched over him until he finally slept.

  A nudge can help shake out memories.

  But with fear gripping tightly,

  the boy would need direction to move forward.

  Something warm.

  Something inviting.

  Something big.

  Perhaps a little comfort would hasten the end.

  I watched. I waited.

  LIGHT

  IN HIS DREAM, THE BOY was suspended, floating in a sky of black. But there were no stars. No moon. Just the darkness, which pulled at him from every direction. Thick blackness that oozed over the boy.

  Around him.

  Beneath him.

  Down his throat.

  He woke and coughed, a mouthful of goop gushing onto his chest. Ewww! He tried to open his eyes, but they were covered by the grainy sludge too. Swiping at the goopy sand on his face, he cracked his eyes open.

  Darkness hung around him. It was still night. But something was different. Something wasn’t right. The boy’s beating heart told him so.

  Co
ld grasped at his feet. Bony wet fingers creeping up the sand under a giant cloak.

  The sea had risen. The monster was trying to take him. To smother him!

  “Get back!” he shouted to the sea. To himself. “Get back!”

  Wind picked up as he scrambled to his feet, globs of wet sand plopping off him. Something heavy slid off his legs and he caught it quickly. The blanket. He held it close. It had hidden him from the monsters on the land, but nothing could hide from the monster in the sea.

  His pulse quickened and the air trembled as the boy scooted to drier sand, back, back until the high tide couldn’t reach him. Then he crouched small and pulled the blanket on top of him again.

  “Once upon a time, there was a boy who was out of reach,” he whispered, glaring at the ocean.

  After a few breaths, the water calmed, a soft black comforter, quilted with small, delicate curves. Swaying gently like it hadn’t tried to grab him—but the boy knew better.

  If his knight had come, he’d have protected the boy, so small against the giant sea. But the boy was still alone.

  “Are you there?” he whispered. Even hearing the bully in his head would be better than being alone in the dark.

  But it didn’t answer.

  A line of shimmering white lay over the water, pointing to where the moon hung low in the sky, big and round, but not quite full, like a cake covered in white frosting with one side sliced off. And above, the stars winked at him. He gave them a small smile. Perhaps they were protecting him. Perhaps they had sent away the wind and put the slimy old monster back to sleep in the sea.

  Could they bring back the sun?

  The boy sighed, wishing he were still asleep. But when he closed his eyes, the blackness of his dream rushed back to him. Staying awake was better.

  He listened for danger, but all he heard was the shush-shush of the tide grasping for higher land, then receding. He tucked his chin against his chest and pulled his knees in tighter. If he was small, maybe nothing would see him, nothing would harm him. It was dark, after all.