This Town Is a Nightmare Read online

  “But, Dad—”

  “I know—you wanted to help. And that’s very admirable. But you’re a kid. It’s not your job to worry about rent and groceries.”

  Beacon gave his dad a meek half smile. He wanted to argue, but truthfully, knowing his dad had a plan and he didn’t have to worry about anything made a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying lift from his shoulders. Also, he was just happy he was getting his board back.

  They approached the front counter.

  “Excuse me?” his dad said to the woman. “My son was in here earlier today and he sold you his skateboard?”

  The woman raised her eyebrows.

  “It was in error,” his dad continued. “We’d like it back, please.”

  “If it’s still available,” Beacon added quickly.

  The woman pulled the board out from a pile of junk next to her desk and slammed it on the counter. “Forty dollars,” she said.

  “What?!” Beacon cried. “But you only gave me twenty for it!”

  “Forty dollars, take it or leave it.”

  “But that’s not fair! That’s like, like extortion or something!” Beacon said.

  Beacon’s dad held out a hand to silence him.

  “Listen, Karen is it?” he said, looking at her name tag. “My son is ten years old.”

  Beacon opened his mouth to argue that he was twelve, but his dad stepped on his foot under the counter.

  “I’m sure you weren’t aware of that when you accepted this skateboard, as I’m certain you know that it’s illegal in the state of New York to accept an article from a person appearing to be under the age of twelve. Now, I know it’s just a misdemeanor offense, and if you have a clear record, there may not even be jail time involved, but some judges like to make examples out of people, especially those seen to be taking advantage of vulnerable children, which I know wasn’t your intention.”

  He opened his wallet and made sure Karen saw his shiny gold CIA badge while he fished around for the twenty-dollar bill. Karen’s eyes popped wide, and she sat up straight. His dad slid the money across the counter.

  “So I’m sure you’d be happy to accept the twenty dollars you gave my son in exchange for the board.”

  The woman gulped, then fumbled for the bill.

  “Thank you, Karen.” His dad flashed her an insincere smile and turned around. Beacon hurriedly grabbed his board.

  “That was so awesome!” Beacon whispered as they approached the front door.

  He’d never seen his dad in CIA mode before. He always threw around phrases like “gross abuse of power” anytime Beacon begged him to use his badge to get what he wanted—but it was undeniably cool.

  “Was it because she was abusing her power?” Beacon said.

  “What?” His dad arched an eyebrow.

  “That you used your badge,” Beacon clarified.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Beacon frowned at his dad. Maybe he’d misread the situation.

  The bell over the door jingled as they exited the pawnshop. Beacon was about to ask his dad if he really hadn’t flashed his badge on purpose, when he heard a growl. The homeless boy and his dog were back. The dog stood up alertly at the sight of them.

  “Hey, little buddy,” Beacon said. “Remember me?” He stretched out his hand, and the dog growled again. Beacon snapped his hand back. “What got into you?” Beacon turned to his dad. “He was friendly earlier. I don’t know why he doesn’t like me now.”

  But Beacon quickly realized that the dog wasn’t growling at him. The animal slouched toward his dad like a predator stalking its prey.

  “Whoa there, boy,” his dad said, backing up a step.

  “Let him sniff you,” Beacon said. “Maybe that’ll help.”

  “I’m not going near that thing,” his dad spat.

  Beacon had never heard his dad talk that way about an animal before. But he’d also never seen him cornered like this, either.

  “Hey, are you going to do something about your dog?” Beacon asked the homeless kid.

  The kid gave him the same hostile stare he had earlier and didn’t move an inch. Unbelievable! He was just going to let his dog attack Beacon’s dad.

  The dog crouched low on its front paws, wiggling its butt as if preparing to leap across the sidewalk. Its jowls pulled back, revealing sharp, slobbery teeth. A low, rumbling snarl issued from its throat. The little hairs on the back of Beacon’s neck prickled. His dad shrank away, bumping into a lamppost. The dog followed his movements, forcing his dad into a dingy alley. Beacon looked around for help. A few people walking by cast anxious expressions their way, but they just walked on, as if they were happy this was happening to someone else and not them.

  “Tell your dog to back off!” Beacon cried frantically, turning to the homeless kid. But he was gone.

  Beacon swung around and looked up and down the street. The kid was nowhere to be seen.

  Another ferocious growl ripped his attention back to the alley. The dog was closing in on his dad.

  Beacon didn’t know what to do. Put the dog in a chokehold? But what if the dog just attacked him instead? That thing was huge. There was no way he would be able to fight it off.

  He knew what he had to do.

  He ran back to the pawnshop and crashed through the door.

  “Call the police!” he screamed. “A man is being attacked!”

  Karen quickly picked up a phone. Beacon turned around to run back to his dad, but paused briefly at a shelf by the door. He grabbed the first thing he laid eyes on—a weed trimmer. He yanked the pull cord on the trimmer and ran outside. The engine roared as he careened into the alley. He expected to find his dad on the ground, the dog gorging on him, a total bloodbath. But the dog was gone.

  His dad calmly wiped dirt off his trousers.

  “What the heck are you doing with that?” his dad called over the roar of the engine.

  Beacon sheepishly lowered the weed trimmer and cut the gas. “Defending you. Where did the dog go?”

  “I yelled at it and it got scared off.”

  “Really?” Beacon said. The dog hadn’t seemed too skittish. His dad must have yelled really loudly for the dog to get scared. So strange that Beacon hadn’t heard him. The walls of the pawnshop must have been thick. Or maybe the trimmer engine had masked the sound. “Well, that’s good, I guess.” Beacon shook his head. “Man, I can’t believe that kid just took off. That dog could have killed you!”

  Sirens wailed dully.

  “Did you call the police?!” His dad’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “Well . . . yeah. I wasn’t just going to let you get mauled by a dog,” he said defensively.

  “No, no, of course, that was the right thing to do,” his dad said, softening. “But now that we’re out of harm’s way, we should probably get out of here. Better to stay off the police’s radar. You never know who’s in league with the Sov.”

  “I guess so,” Beacon said. He still felt uneasy about his dad’s sudden anger. What had he expected him to do?

  Beacon started to walk, and his dad raised his eyebrows.

  “Uh, Beaks?” A slight grin pulled at his lips.

  Beacon looked down. That’s when he realized he was still holding the weed trimmer. He felt his cheeks go red. His dad laughed, and some of the tension dissipated from Beacon’s body. His dad must have just had a bad moment earlier. And wasn’t he allowed? They were all feeling stressed and on edge lately.

  “Oh, right. I guess I’ll just put this back, then,” Beacon said.

  * * *

  ...............................

  That night, Beacon dreamed of home. In his dream, he woke up in his bed back in Los Angeles, moonlight filtering through the window onto his Tony Hawk poster. Something had woken him up, and he quickly realized what: He
could hear Jasper outside his bedroom. He kicked off his sheets and crept into the darkened hall, following the sounds of Jasper’s laughter floating on the air, just out of reach.

  The pantry closet was open an inch. When they were younger, they would crouch inside it during games of hide-and-seek.

  And he’d just seen the door move.

  “Jasper?” Beacon whispered, trying to keep his voice down so he didn’t wake his dad and sister.

  No answer. The laughter had stopped.

  Beacon crept closer to the pantry. Then he reached out and pulled on the doorknob. A massive tentacle slithered out of the door.

  Beacon screamed.

  “Wake up! Wake up!”

  Beacon blinked open his eyes. Arthur was bent over him in the dark, his eyes huge behind his broken glasses.

  “Are you okay?” Arthur asked. “You were screaming.”

  “I was? Did I wake you up?” Beacon mumbled.

  “No, I was already awake. Couldn’t sleep.”

  Everleigh groaned and smacked her lips together. “Everything ’right?” she said.

  Beacon swallowed. “Just a bad dream. Go back to bed.”

  Everleigh was already snoring. His dad hadn’t woken up at all. An unsettled feeling came over him. His dad was usually such a light sleeper. He famously once asked Jasper to pipe down when he made a “racket” undoing his belt when they were all sharing a tent during a family camping trip.

  Beacon pushed that thought out of his head. It was good that his dad was finally getting some rest. They all needed it.

  Beacon lay back down and pulled his thin comforter up to his chin.

  He tried to go back to bed, but he couldn’t fall asleep. The truth was, these dreams really bothered him. He used to hate the nightmares about Jasper underwater, but now he longed for any chance to see his brother’s face again. In his dreams now, Jasper was always just out of reach. Just around a corner. Just out of sight. It was like the dream was designed to torture him. Punish him.

  The worst part was, he knew he deserved it. He hadn’t thought about his brother all day. He’d been too busy, and Jasper hadn’t crossed his mind. But he knew that none of that was a good excuse. It had only been a little over a year since he died. What kind of a person didn’t think about their dead brother every waking moment of the day?

  Is this how it will happen? Beacon wondered. How Jasper would be forgotten? First, a day without thinking of him. Then a week, then a month, until he couldn’t remember him ever being a part of their family at all? Frantically, Beacon tried to remember his brother’s face. His wide brown eyes, and the dimple that popped out in his cheek when he smiled big, which he always did. Beacon tried to remember his booming and infectious laugh. And slowly, slowly, his brother came back. Beacon’s breathing evened out, and he fell into a fitful sleep.

  3

  The junkyard was hemmed in by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Despite this precaution, the front gates were almost always open, revealing teetering piles of rusted-out cars as tall as two-story houses.

  Dark clouds hung low over the yard, and thunder rumbled ominously. Any minute now it was going to spit.

  Briefly, Beacon wondered if this was normal rain, or if it was possible the Sov were right, and there would be a collection of weather events that would devastate the planet. The reports of flash floods and other freak weather events had slowed since they’d seen the urgent news broadcast at the diner outside of Driftwood Harbor. But did that mean the floods were just a coincidence? Or was this the start of the Sov’s prophecy coming true?

  Beacon shook his head. He couldn’t think about that right now. They were at the junkyard for a reason.

  Their shady landlord was helping the twins’ dad aquire fake identification so he could apply for better jobs, so Everleigh, Beacon, and Arthur had decided to spend the day gathering supplies for more PJs.

  “I don’t think we’re going to get lucky here again,” Beacon said. “This place is pretty picked over.” Beacon glanced across at the others. That’s when he noticed that Arthur looked pale. Well, paler than usual.

  “Are you okay, man?” Beacon asked.

  “Yeah, just a little lightheaded,” Arthur said, touching his temple.

  “I heard it helps if you eat,” Everleigh said dryly.

  This morning, Arthur had eaten two bites of his off-brand cereal and declared he was full.

  “Loopy Fruits just aren’t the same as the real thing.” Arthur forced a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s get this done.”

  Beacon was prepared to argue with him, but then Everleigh rolled up her sleeves and said, “Let’s go shopping!”

  The kids split up. Traversing the junkyard, Beacon couldn’t help thinking about how strange it was that his dad was letting them out like this. When they’d first arrived in New York, he’d assumed that they’d be chained to the bedposts anytime their dad had to go out without them. Instead, he was letting them roam around a junkyard in an unfamiliar city by themselves. He wasn’t about to lodge a complaint, but it was weird.

  Beacon headed out for the far left corner. He was eager to contribute something, especially after his failed attempt to sell his board.

  Beacon ducked his head against the first few drops of rain and climbed up onto the hood of an old Ford Anglia. He peered in through the cracked windshield. Most of the cars had already been rifled through, but some of them had soda cans and filthy blankets strewn around inside. Beacon could imagine homeless people sleeping in the piled cars on cold winter nights. He left those cars alone, even if he and the others really could use extra blankets. At least they had a roof over their heads.

  Beacon was fishing through the center console of a Beetle when he heard a bark.

  He jerked his head up and quickly scanned the lot for a dog. But he didn’t see anything. He must have imagined it, just like the Jane sightings.

  Beacon shook his head and went back to digging through the console.

  Then he heard it again.

  He scoured the lot. Arthur was climbing a pile of scrap metal, and Everleigh was strolling out of the old security tower toward a rusted old crane. Relief trickled in, but it was short-lived. Something moved in the shadows, and Beacon realized it wasn’t the crane his sister was walking toward, but a chocolate brown Lab standing next to it.

  “Everleigh, stop!” Beacon yelled.

  Beacon scrambled down the pile of cars, and his shoes slipped on the wet metal. He slid down, gashing his leg on a loose bolt. He hissed as he landed, limping past the pain as fast as he could over the cracked concrete.

  “Everleigh, get away from that dog!”

  But either she couldn’t hear him over the rain or he was too far away. Everleigh bent down and stretched out a hand. All Beacon could do was watch in horror as the dog trotted up to his sister and . . . delivered slobbery kisses all over Everleigh’s cheeks.

  Disbelief coursed through him. Yesterday the dog had been ready to tear his dad to shreds. Now it was back to being nice again.

  Beacon skidded up, gasping for breath.

  “Come pet him, Beaks,” Everleigh said. “He’s really friendly.”

  Arthur had appeared sometime during Beacon’s frantic screaming. He leaned over the dog.

  “Careful, he’s hurt,” Arthur said. “Look at his nose.”

  Everleigh gently turned the dog’s snout, revealing a wet welt across his nose.

  “He doesn’t seem too bothered by it,” Everleigh said.

  The dog’s tail went round and round in response.

  Beacon couldn’t believe what was happening.

  “That’s—that’s the homeless kid’s dog,” he said, finding his voice again. “The one that tried to attack Dad.”

  “This puppy?” Arthur said skeptically.

  “Yes, but it was acting totally different yesterd
ay,” Beacon said. “It was snarling like it wanted to rip Dad’s head off.”

  “You must be mistaken,” Everleigh said. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She nuzzled up to the dog, and it wagged its tail.

  “I’m not wrong,” Beacon said. “That thing is a vicious killer!”

  The dog left Everleigh and bounded over to Beacon. It bumped into his legs, until even Beacon was forced to scratch behind its ears. The dog panted appreciatively. Beacon could practically see his argument dissolving before his own eyes.

  Just then, Beacon caught sight of a maroon T-shirt. The homeless boy was watching them from behind the crane. He darted out of sight when Beacon spotted him.

  “Hey! You! I see you!” Beacon ran over. “Stop!”

  For a moment, it seemed like the boy might ignore him. Then he stuttered to a stop and turned around. He crossed his arms over his wet T-shirt and glared at Beacon.

  “What?” the boy said defensively.

  For a moment, Beacon was too shocked to speak. Mostly because he had started to assume that the kid was nonverbal.

  “Thanks for helping us yesterday,” Beacon said. “Your dog almost killed my dad.”

  “Then how come my dog’s the one injured?” the boy said.

  “You can’t be suggesting my dad did that?” Beacon said.

  “I’m not suggesting it. I’m saying it,” the boy retorted.

  “You’ve got a screw loose,” Beacon said. “My dad yelled and your dog ran away. He never said anything about a fight.”

  But Beacon hadn’t heard his dad yell, he remembered. He shoved that thought out of his head. This kid was clearly lying. He just didn’t want his pet to get into trouble. They put down dogs that attacked people.

  “Besides,” Beacon added, “even if my dad did defend himself—which he didn’t—he would have had a right. You saw the way your dog was acting. You need to control that thing.”

  “That thing is smart. It’s not his fault he doesn’t trust your ‘dad,’ ” the boy said, doing air quotes.

  “What does that even mean?” Everleigh said.