Fangboy by Jeff Strand Read Free Book Online Page B

not contain much in the way of cake mix. If he wanted to celebrate his birthday properly, he’d have to venture out and steal some supplies.
    He walked until evening, but didn’t walk far enough to emerge from the woods. Disappointed, he curled up next to a tree and went to sleep.
    The next day he woke up with a strange feeling that this was his seventh birthday, and that yesterday he’d simply been overly excited. Yes, today he would celebrate. All of the forest creatures would be jealous of his grand birthday party.
    As he resumed walking toward what he hoped was the edge of the forest, Nathan decided that if he hadn’t found any theft-worthy birthday supplies by the time it started to get dark, he’d improvise. Tiny branches would serve as candles. A pile of mud would be his cake, though he would not consume it. He would wrap a rock in leaves and pretend to be delighted when he opened his gift.
    But improvisation turned out to be unnecessary, and his heart leapt with joy as he emerged from the forest into somebody’s backyard. There were no fruit-bearing trees or food on a grill or spare clothes hanging from a line, but Nathan was certain that if he did a bit of exploration, he’d find something to make his birthday a happy one.
    It was a nice little one-story house. White and freshly painted, with a colorful flower garden, bright green grass, and a welcoming environment, despite the lack of any visible signs welcoming him.
    There were no toys. Sometimes these homes had toys, and Nathan would occasionally jump on a trampoline, or dig in a sandbox, or wobble back and forth on a giant plastic bumblebee. This was always fun, although less fun than it would have been if he weren’t so scared of being caught.
    But he’d never been caught. Yes, he’d been chased away three or four times, but nobody ever knew that he was a fanged monster living in their woods. They couldn’t have suspected that, or they would have sent people into the forest to hunt him. No, they just thought he was a mischievous little boy from another village, trying to steal playtime with another child’s toys.
    He walked through the yard toward the house, moving on his tiptoes even though such a thing was really not necessary on the soft grass. He hoped that if they had a dog that it was a small friendly one that would lick his hand and nip at his feet, and not a large one that would try to bite his thighs off.
    Nathan walked right up next to the house. The window, decorated with a plotted plant on each side of the sill, was very inviting. He never, ever, ever looked into windows—that was a good way to get caught—but it was his birthday, so why shouldn’t he peek into a window if he wanted?
    He raised himself on his tiptoes and looked inside.
    The house was very tidy. There was a long couch and an oval-shaped rug, and a bookcase that seemed like it had thousands of books. There was a painting of a vast mountain range on the wall. The whole place had a warm, happy feel. He was sure that nobody was ever beaten in there.
    Nathan thought that he could quite happily live in this house.
    He continued to stare inside, transfixed.
    Was that food? Yes, right there on a plate on a table next to the couch: a great big sandwich. He didn’t know what kind of sandwich it was (all he could see for certain was the lettuce) but his mouth began to water.
    Why was the sandwich just sitting there? Who would abandon such a glorious thing?
    Would they hear him if he broke the window?
    He was pretty sure they would.
    What if he broke it quickly, and climbed inside and stole the amazing sandwich before they had a chance to react? Maybe the people who lived in this house kept their shotgun in an inconvenient location.
    It might be worth getting shot to have a bite of the sandwich.
    He gazed at the food, not realizing that his fingernails were scraping against the glass, until—
    “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Nathan yelped. A woman, quite a bit older than