October 29th, 2 Days Until Showtime
Michael
It was nearly time to find Judith.
Tonight, he would retrieve her tombstone, bringing things closer to absolute zero.
He would not be stopped.
Not this time
Because this time the Center of the Universe had been more careful, choosing wiser, planning longer.
The Universe would be balanced.
Because this time he had help.
Jamie
Jamie sat on her front steps, thoughtfully eating strawberry Twizzlers. Blandy was back to being his usual big pain in the hiny.
All he could talk about was the Boogeyman and how he'd nearly escaped with his life after the two of them had an epic battle in the middle of the playground.
Using chainsaws and dynamite.
Cow poop, all Uncle Mikey did was stare at him!
(He said so.)
At least, Blandy, who smelled like cigarettes, stale Doritos, and moldy bread left her alone. All Jamie had to do was stare at him. He'd give her a funny look and walk away rubbing at his still swollen upper lip with it's pimples and lame attempt at a moustache.
Speaking of walking away, Uncle Mikey wasn't around much anymore.
Maybe he was busy?
Lonely, annoyed, and sticky with Twizzler blood, Jamie looked forward to Halloween, hoping this would all work out, just like Daddy said it would.
Mrs. Lane
Something was going to happen.
She could tell.
Though it looked like business as usual, the town was holding its breath.
It had been fifteen more years.
The pattern had been established.
In the classroom, Blandy was insufferable, claiming he'd seen the Shape, the Boogyman that terrorized the town a decade and a half before ago, and that he'd had an epic fight with it.
And that Blandy had won.
A likely story - all Mrs. Lane knew was that Blandy had come squealing and covered with mud and wood chips from the playground into the classroom crying so hard that he'd had to go home early.
Blandy's mother, a waitress at the Dew Drop Inn, had NOT been happy about having to drop everything and come get her youngest. Pregnant belly pushed out like the prow of a battleship, she'd grabbed Blandly by the ear and dragged the whining delinquent outside where she'd slapped the crap out of him before tearing out of the parking lot in a cloud of rage and burnt tires in her battered avocado green El Camino with the empty beer cans rattling in the bed.
As to Mrs. Lane, she highly doubted that the Shape would show himself before the big night.
She flipped open her grade book: Jamie was doing well. Mostly Bs' with a few A's sprinkled in. Blandy would be stuck for yet another year in third grade, though.
Not her problem.
Mrs. Lane was moving to Florida.
The new teacher next year could deal with Blandy and the rut he'd dug himself into.
That is, if there was a next year.