Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

248 :: JOHN R. MABRY
Dylan steeled himself and walked forward, expecting to
smash his nose on the door. But instead, a shimmer passed
his peripheral vision, and he passed through the door.
There he stopped, his eyes widening at the sight. Standing
in the tub, his fists held out before him defiantly, was a
young Mikael, maybe ten years old. He was dressed only in
a ratty pair of white briefs, and his face was pocked with
scabs and bruises.
He was tiny, as a boy, betraying none of the size he would
later accumulate. But the defiant hook in his nose was
already in place, as well as the piercing look in his eye.
Facing him was an enormous woman, three times his size,
gnarled and obese. In her right hand she held a steaming
saucepan, and the other was waving in the air, making
swipes at the young Mikael.
“You gonna mind your Nana!” she shouted at him, making
another grab at the boy, blocking his escape with her
enormous frame.
“I hate you!” he shouted.
“Jesus said to kill boys who don’t respect their elders,” she
hissed. “But I’m not gonna kill ya, ’cause I love you, Boobyboy.
And it’s only ’cause I love ya’ that I gotta discipline ya’.
I wouldn’t be no kinda Christian if I failed you in my duty.
Now hold the fuck still!” She made another grab, and this
time caught a handful of wild black hair. She pulled at it
until he cried out, forcing his head down toward the tub.
Once his back was exposed to her, she raised the saucepan
over it and poured a stream of whitish, viscous fluid down
on his back.
As soon as it hit his skin, he screamed. Steam leaped from
his back into the air, and white streams flowed slowly down
his back until it stopped, clinging to his skin in hardening
sheets.
“Ahhhh—” the boy screamed, twisting around to break