Hellhole by Gina Damico Page A

Max rushed to add.
    â€œIs it now.”
    â€œSort of. Gray area.” Max omitted the rest of the story, of that fateful Boy Scouts camping trip when he’d fallen naked into a bush of poison ivy and was confined to the good ole Coleman Elite for the rest of the weekend, wallowing in a severe rash that managed to worm its way into some very unpleasant places. Martin Schultz had not, for some reason, wanted his tent back after that. “You can set it up wherever you want. Maybe go back to Ugly Hill and live near your hole. But you wanted shelter, and here it is. So, you know. Boo-yah.”
    Max braced for the plume of fire that was surely about to envelop him in a shrieking mass of flame, but Burg shrank in size as he rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “Interesting. You’re not as dumb as you look, sound, and act.” He glanced with disdain at the tent, then sneered back at Max, tapping his fingers together. “Very well. A bargain it is.”
    Max stood firm. “Except, um, we no longer
need
to bargain. I got you shelter, so you have to leave.”
    â€œOr,” Burg said slyly, “you can take what’s behind door number two.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œTechnically, yes, you have given me shelter. But if you’d be so kind as to give me an upgrade, I might be so kind as to grant you a favor in return. Which, by the way, I
never
do. You’re getting a real steal here, Shove, so I’d take it if I were you.”
    Max couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being manipulated, but he was also starting to realize that he didn’t have much choice in the matter. “I’m listening.”
    â€œIf you find me a house—a real house, with a roof and plumbing
and
a hot tub, that’s nonnegotiable—then I’ll do something”—he winced, as if the word itself caused him pain—“
nice.
For you.”
    â€œLike what?”
    Burg groaned. “Oh, come on, kid, just think of something. Want a new laptop? A car? A nice piece of tail to aid you in losing your virginity?”
    â€œHow do you know I’m a—”
    Burg made a skeptical face.
    â€œHmph,” said Max.
    â€œSo, what’ll it be?” Burg said. “Gift card to the Outback Steakhouse? Money? Fame?”
    Max perked up. “Money?”
I could pay off those overdue bills. Get Mom a visiting nurse and better meds. Maybe even save up for college.
    â€œSure,” said Burg. “Name your price. Uh, within reason. Whatever I can nab from the local bank.”
    The ideas kept churning. How much did a pacemaker cost? They’d never been able to afford one before, but—
    Wait a minute.
    Max licked his lips. “Can you . . . heal?”
    â€œPardon?” Burg said, eyes narrowing.
    â€œCan you make people better? People who are sick?”
    â€œKid, I don’t know if you fully understand the concept of ‘evil incarnate,’ but—”
    â€œYes or no?”
    Burg held his gaze. “Yeah,” he said, gesturing offhand to the ficus. “I can heal.”
    Max whipped around. The plant was back to normal. Even greener than before, it seemed.
    â€œOkay,” Max said, feeling as if he were going to burst. “Okay. So. My mom has a bad heart. You fix her, and I’ll find you a house. I promise. You can even stay here in the basement until I do.”
    â€œYou find me a house
first,
” Burg said slowly, “and
then
I’ll fix your mom.”
    â€œCome on, I’m not going to fall for that,” said Max. “Those are my terms. You want a hot tub or not?”
    The room took on a reddish hue as Burg ballooned back to his full size, snarling.
    â€œHouse first, then heart,” he said in a quiet, sinister voice that scared Max more than if he’d yelled it. “Or I’ll run upstairs and gnaw the diseased thing right out of her chest.”
    A vision not of Max’s own creation screamed