The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

64
games.”
James punched the wall at the mention of Cory. “I’m supposed to chop wood and
help grandpa at the same time?” He shook his greasy head and marched out the door.
Glancing at the empty drive, his jaw tightened; his stupid brother had the car again. That
meant he would have to pass by Tobias’s house. Steeling himself, he started walking.
It didn’t matter the time, Tobias would be home, waiting like a wolf spider for his
victim. He had no other prey but James. As the government dwelling with its treeless
front yard loomed, he scanned the place for signs of Tobias. Was the wretch gone
today?
As he hurried past the ominous abode, stumbling on his too long jeans, his cousin’s
dreaded voice hollered, “Hey, Cheeseburger! Taking a walk?” A large boy in baggy blue
jeans and a black tent of a sweater appeared over the ridge of the rooftop. His lips
pulled back over yellow teeth and he sat down. “When’s the last time you saw daylight?
Where’s Cory?” He guffawed. “I told her how many games you bought after she left
you. And how you gained thirty pounds. She started laughing!”
A hot dart of fury burned James’ breast. “Shut up!”
“Weren’t you supposed to be in Varsity this year?” Tobias cackled. Reaching behind
him, he produced a BB Gun and aimed at James’ butt. “Time for cardio, Cheeseburger!”
“HEY!” James clamped his hands over his unkempt black hair and fled as Tobias
pulled the trigger. A BB ricocheted next to his foot and then what felt like a hot
needle jammed into James’ left butt cheek. He screamed. Tobias’s triumphant laughter
reverberated through the air. The reprehensible sniper took aim once more, but his
galloping victim rounded the corner. James may have gained thirty pounds, but his
quarterback speed hadn’t left him yet.
“I’ll get you in the balls when you come back, Cheeseburger,” Tobias bellowed.
James struggled not to cry as he hissed vile curses under his breath. Despite how he
hated Tobias, he could not confront him. Tobias had a mean punch. These days, James
had no backbone to end the constant torture. Rubbing his hindquarters, the heavy teen
reached his grandpa’s house on the other side of town. It was one of those old houses
built of wood during the sawmill days when this sleepy reservation community was
a booming cultural hub, and not just for the Fort Apache Reservation, but for all the
White Mountains.
The old man lounged on an abandoned classroom chair as if it were comfortable.
The sun beat against his wrinkled brown face though he wore a baseball cap to shade his
squinting black eyes. None of this mattered. The sun could burn its hottest, Old Jerry
wasn’t going to budge.
He waved a stringy arm. “Cheeseburger.”
“My name’s James,” the boy mumbled.
“What?” The crone guffawed. “James is a man’s name!” He leaned forward. “Finally
took a walk?” He cackled. “Cory with your brother now?”
James showed his teeth like a snarling lion as tears threatened to further his humiliation.