A Boy Called Duct Tape by Christopher Cloud Read Free Book Online Page B

close,” I said.
    Ten minutes later the road led us to the same limestone cliffs we’d seen on the Google map. I rolled to a stop in the tall grass and Pia hopped off. Kiki pulled in next to us.
    “This is it,” I said uneasily.
    Off to our right, tucked away in the shadow of the rocky overhang, was a small log cabin. A rusty, yellow Jeep was parked in front of the cabin—its license plate read: CAVEMAN.
    Kiki and I laid our bikes in the thick grass, our eyes never leaving the shadowy cabin.
    Off to our left, perched on the bottom branch of a towering oak tree, was a big black crow. It seemed to be watching us.
    “You’re sure this is the place, Pablo?” Kiki asked, a nervous shudder in her voice. “It’s totally creepsville.”
    “Uh-huh, this is it,” I said, grabbing a short breath.
    “It looks sort of spooky,” Pia said in a quiet voice.
    “I’ll second that,” Kiki said.
    It does look spooky , I thought.
    I didn’t remember the cabin looking so mysterious when my dirt-bike buddy Tim Mitchell and I had stumbled on the place the summer before.
    A NO TRESPASSING sign was nailed to the cabin door. The door was framed by a stack of firewood on one side, and an all-terrain vehicle—all four tires flat—on the other. Two aluminum canoes, anchored to the ground by cobwebs, stretched out along the north side of the cabin. I noticed the shadowy image of an outhouse out back.
    As we stood staring at the cabin and wondering what to do next, a light breeze rippled through the high grass. The grass seemed to tremble.
    “What now, Pablo?” Kiki asked, keeping her voice low.
    There was an awkward cloud of silence. Finally, I said, “I guess maybe, uh, I’ll go knock on the door.”
    “Are you sure about this, Pablo?” Kiki said in little more than a whisper, her eyes riveted on the cabin.
    I gave a small nod. “Pretty sure.”
    As I summoned the courage to walk up to the cabin door and knock, it flew open. A big man appeared in the doorway, a longhair Siamese cat cradled in one hand, a grooming brush in the other. Shirtless, the man wore plaid shorts.
    “That’s him,” I whispered, the muscles in my neck stiff with tension. “That’s Monroe Huff. I recognize him from his picture in the newspaper.”
    “Newspaper?” Kiki asked.
    “He’s a famous spelunker,” I said in a hushed voice. “The newspaper did a story about him.”
    “His license plate is right,” Kiki observed in a soft voice. “He does look like a caveman.”
    I had never seen Monroe Huff in person. I’d only heard rumors about the best spelunker in Missouri, and later read the article. But Kiki was right: he did look like modern man’s prehistoric relative. Built like a fire hydrant, short and squatty, his thick brow sloped and his massive jaw jutted. His stomach was flat, his hips were narrow, and his muscular shoulders looked like an Olympic weightlifter’s. His dark hair was cut short and a large silver hoop hung from his left ear. A pair of dark sunglasses with leather side shields—the kind Arctic explorers wore—rested atop his head.
    “I can feel my heart beating, Pablo,” Pia whispered, placing a quivering hand over her heart. She took a half-step back.
    The Caveman set the cat down inside the cabin, pulled the side-shield sunglasses down over his deep-set eyes, and started toward us, his long arms swinging freely at his side like those of some apelike ancestor.
    A tiny gasp arose from Kiki.
    “Easy, primo ,” I said, my legs feeling more like rubber than flesh and bone.
    When Monroe Huff walked out of the shadows and into the light I could see a chest matted with dark, curly hair. It reminded me of a thorny briar patch.
    “Let’s get out of here,” Kiki said, tugging at the sleeve of my T-shirt. She moved toward her bike, dragging me with her.
    I grabbed Kiki’s hand and pulled her to a stop. “It’s okay, he’s harmless.” I didn’t know if I believed that or not. Up close Monroe Huff looked hideous. Up