The Attraction by Douglas Clegg Page B

name is Scratch.”
    “I gotta pee,” Tammy said. “Come on. I gotta pee. When I get nervous, I gotta pee.”
    “Okay, okay,” Bronwyn said. “Get out and go take a leak.”
    “Come with me. I’m scared.”
    Bronwyn made a noise of moderate disgust from the back of her throat, but flicked her cigarette out into the dirt and pushed Griff and his stolen Mystery out of the car. “What, are you two years old?” she asked Tammy.
    “There might be snakes. And scorpions.”
    “One can only hope,” Bronwyn said.
    3
    “What happened back there?”
    “It was funny as hell,” Griff said. “That old man came at us with the gun, but he didn’t know that Olshaker and his buddy were right behind him. God knows what the hell Olshaker’s doing out here. He’s obsessed with my girl, and I guess he’s been trailing us. Well, the old guy spun around, Olshaker squealed like a little kid and tried to grab the shotgun. I was surprised to see the little creep myself, but after you guys took off, you missed the best part—Olshaker and his buddy were fighting with the old guy for the shotgun, and I just saw this little fella and decided he’d be great back at The House.” Griff always referred to his frat house as The House. Scratch would not be the first thing he’d ever stolen for The House. He had a stag’s head from one of the dean’s homes up in the balcony room on the second floor, and he’d even stolen a trophy from a rival football team and they had it in the basement of The House. “Imagine this little guy up on the mantel during a party. Cowabunga!” He laughed, pulling the little mummy’s arms up in the air, pretending to talk with a babyish voice. “I’m the Monster of The House! Wheee!”
    “Why’d you steal it?”
    He shrugged. “Chill out. He’s all broke up around the ribs. We’d have had to pay for it anyway.” Then, he held up one of Scratch’s fingernails. “See? Broke right off.” He passed it over to Josh, who nearly pricked his finger on the sharp tip.
    “It’s obsidian. Like a knife. Sharp as hell.”
    “I think it’s a cool souvenir from this crappy trip,” Griff said.
    Ziggy in the backseat had already lit a joint, and he and Griff passed it back and forth, waiting for the girls to come back to the car.
    They were all quiet for a minute or two, and then Ziggy said, “Just don’t feed that little bastard.”
    “Huh?”
    “I said don’t feed it.”
    “I wonder what it eats,” Griff said. “I mean, if it eats skin or blood, then I hate to say it, but our buddy Josh already gave it its first meal. Look.” Griff pressed his finger to Scratch’s clenched jaws. He drew his finger back and held it up. A tiny spot of blood. “When you fell on it, buddy. It got a little taste o’ Joshua.”
    “We’re so very, very screwed,” Ziggy said.
    4
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Josh laughed. “Oh my God, Ziggy, give up the weed. It’s messing with your head. I mean it. Give it up.”
    “No, we’re cursed. I know we are. That little bastard was in my vision dream. Shamans used mushrooms and herbs and weed to see things. I saw it. I had a shaman trip. I saw the little bastard in it. We’re up shit’s creek like nobody’s ever been up shit’s creek.”
    “Further up the creek than you’d guess, plowboy,” Griff said. He pointed to the gas gauge.
    It was just beneath empty.
    “Great. Just great,” Josh said, hitting the horn with his fist.
    The sound of the horn echoed across the dusty road.
    5
    After a minute, Ziggy said, “Throw the little bastard out. It’s bad luck.”
    6
    The trunk of the Pimpmobile popped up.
    “This is the ugliest, nastiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Josh said. “When we get going again, we’re going to return it. We are.”
    “No way,” Griff said, heaving Scratch into the back of the trunk, among the girls’ suitcases and the guys’ backpacks and clothes.
    They both stared at it.
    “What were you thinking? What was going on in that mind of