standing beside a dead moose, which was suspended from a tree. “You’re welcome to borrow this.”
“Thanks, but I’m more concerned with the joker who nailed a coyote pelt to my door.”
“I doubt he was joking,” said Kendrick. “It sounds more like a warning to me.”
“I agree with Kendrick,” said Doc Larrabee, stroking his beard. “The Game War might seem like ancient history, but people around here have long memories. If you don’t believe me, pay a visit to the little cemetery over in Wesley after the snow melts.”
I stopped flipping through the book. “Why? What’s there?”
Doc leaned his sharp elbows on the table. “The grave of Wilbur Day. He was one of Magoon’s band of rascals. I remember hearing about his exploits when I moved to this neck of the woods. One day I decided to visit his grave myself. A rifle bullet was set carefully atop the headstone. Every time I’ve been back, I’ve found a new cartridge there, and every time it’s made me thank God I’m not a Maine game warden.”
FEBRUARY 13
I have a BIG cut on my head where Randle hit me. Ma put OINTMENT on it before she tucked me into bed.
Do you think maybe someday Dad could teach me karate? I asked her.
She gave me the funniest look—like I just read her mind or something. Maybe someday, she said.
Dad is into mixed martial arts. He’s an Ultimate Fighter. He’s competed in octagons over in the Orient. I’ve seen him break a board with his fist … but it took a couple of tries.
Dad gave me a Bruce Lee poster for my room. It says DRAGON’S ROAR. I’ve never seen that DVD. But it looks pretty good from the poster.
He works over at the Shogun Karate Studio. I asked him once if he would give me lessons so I could kick the shit out of kids at school. He said that the purpose of karate ain’t attacking people. It should only be used in self-defense, he said.
What a load! Who would want to be a mixed martial artist if you couldn’t use your powers to beat people up? That’s the whole point of karate!
Try to forget about Randle, Ma said. She kissed my head before she closed the door.
Outside, the wind is really howling.
I forgot about the snowstorm. I’m worried SHE is going to come to my window again.
7
Every few minutes, a gust would come charging by the house, and you would have sworn it was a freight train from the way it rattled the windows and shook the pictures on the walls. I was both dreading the drive back to my trailer and eager to start out on my inevitable journey. If I had waited for Doc Larrabee to stop with the coffee and folklore, I would have been there all night. After a while I gave a false yawn and stretched my arms over my head. “I guess it’s about time for me to head home. In this storm, it should only take three or four hours.”
“You sure you don’t want another cup for the road?”
“My bladder will burst if I do.”
“How about you, Kendrick? I’ve got a collection of Helen’s cordials begging to be opened.”
Between them, the two men had already polished off the last of the Maker’s Mark as well as a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Doc had increasingly come to resemble Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but Kendrick displayed no visible signs of intoxication. Even if he was a bit impaired, I figured his dogs knew the way home.
“Good luck catching your prankster,” he said in a not-unfriendly tone of voice.
Doc Larrabee followed me to the chilly mudroom and waited patiently while I laced up my boots. For the first time, I noticed that he was wearing thin little slippers, which made me think of Ebenezer Scrooge waiting for his ghosts on the night before Christmas.
“Careful out there,” he said. “It’s not a fit night out for man nor beast.”
“I suspect the beasts know better than to venture out into a blizzard.”
He shook my gloved hand with drunken formality and opened the door for me. A gust of wind caught it and snapped it open. The
“Thanks, but I’m more concerned with the joker who nailed a coyote pelt to my door.”
“I doubt he was joking,” said Kendrick. “It sounds more like a warning to me.”
“I agree with Kendrick,” said Doc Larrabee, stroking his beard. “The Game War might seem like ancient history, but people around here have long memories. If you don’t believe me, pay a visit to the little cemetery over in Wesley after the snow melts.”
I stopped flipping through the book. “Why? What’s there?”
Doc leaned his sharp elbows on the table. “The grave of Wilbur Day. He was one of Magoon’s band of rascals. I remember hearing about his exploits when I moved to this neck of the woods. One day I decided to visit his grave myself. A rifle bullet was set carefully atop the headstone. Every time I’ve been back, I’ve found a new cartridge there, and every time it’s made me thank God I’m not a Maine game warden.”
FEBRUARY 13
I have a BIG cut on my head where Randle hit me. Ma put OINTMENT on it before she tucked me into bed.
Do you think maybe someday Dad could teach me karate? I asked her.
She gave me the funniest look—like I just read her mind or something. Maybe someday, she said.
Dad is into mixed martial arts. He’s an Ultimate Fighter. He’s competed in octagons over in the Orient. I’ve seen him break a board with his fist … but it took a couple of tries.
Dad gave me a Bruce Lee poster for my room. It says DRAGON’S ROAR. I’ve never seen that DVD. But it looks pretty good from the poster.
He works over at the Shogun Karate Studio. I asked him once if he would give me lessons so I could kick the shit out of kids at school. He said that the purpose of karate ain’t attacking people. It should only be used in self-defense, he said.
What a load! Who would want to be a mixed martial artist if you couldn’t use your powers to beat people up? That’s the whole point of karate!
Try to forget about Randle, Ma said. She kissed my head before she closed the door.
Outside, the wind is really howling.
I forgot about the snowstorm. I’m worried SHE is going to come to my window again.
7
Every few minutes, a gust would come charging by the house, and you would have sworn it was a freight train from the way it rattled the windows and shook the pictures on the walls. I was both dreading the drive back to my trailer and eager to start out on my inevitable journey. If I had waited for Doc Larrabee to stop with the coffee and folklore, I would have been there all night. After a while I gave a false yawn and stretched my arms over my head. “I guess it’s about time for me to head home. In this storm, it should only take three or four hours.”
“You sure you don’t want another cup for the road?”
“My bladder will burst if I do.”
“How about you, Kendrick? I’ve got a collection of Helen’s cordials begging to be opened.”
Between them, the two men had already polished off the last of the Maker’s Mark as well as a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Doc had increasingly come to resemble Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but Kendrick displayed no visible signs of intoxication. Even if he was a bit impaired, I figured his dogs knew the way home.
“Good luck catching your prankster,” he said in a not-unfriendly tone of voice.
Doc Larrabee followed me to the chilly mudroom and waited patiently while I laced up my boots. For the first time, I noticed that he was wearing thin little slippers, which made me think of Ebenezer Scrooge waiting for his ghosts on the night before Christmas.
“Careful out there,” he said. “It’s not a fit night out for man nor beast.”
“I suspect the beasts know better than to venture out into a blizzard.”
He shook my gloved hand with drunken formality and opened the door for me. A gust of wind caught it and snapped it open. The
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