The Blob by David Bischoff Read Free Book Online Page B

Eddie.
    Mrs. Penny caught Kevin by the back of his collar, spinning him around in a challenging manner.
    “And where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
    “To Eddie’s! I’m sleeping over, remember?”
    “Okay, but you’re not going anywhere without your jacket,” she insisted.
    “Aww, Mom, it’s boiling out!”
    “It’s September and it’s nighttime. You’re wearing your jacket.”
    Kevin stomped to the nearby closet and pulled out a light-gray nylon jacket, which he tossed over his shoulder.
    “Put it on!” his mother demanded.
    Kevin put it on and tried to zipper it up. But the zipper jammed halfway. “Stupid coat!”
    Paul watched, feeling like a third wheel, as Mrs. Penny descended upon her son in a mother-hennish manner, giving the zipper a few hard tugs until it surrendered to determined motherhood and shut all the way. She bent over and kissed Kevin on the cheek. “Bye, honey. Enjoy yourself.”
    The moment Kevin and Eddie escaped through the door, a crash sounded from the kitchen, followed a second later by the wailing of a child. “Oh, Lord! Christine!” said Mrs. Penny. “Excuse me, Paul.” She hurried back to deal with the accident, leaving Paul to his own devices.
    He looked around.
    Nice house. Typical suburban; a lot like his own, but with a touch of individuality, plus some class and style. The same classiness showed also in the oldest product of the Penny union, Meg. The traits that Paul liked most about her were her poise, her sense of style, plus the obvious intelligence and wit she showed in conversations.
    Suddenly there she was—bouncing down the stairs in a pretty beige ruffled blouse that suited her perfectly. She wore a bright, welcoming smile, and—most exciting of all, Paul thought—she looked extremely pleased to be going out with him.
    “Hi, Paul!”
    “Hi,” Paul said. “You look great!”
    “Thanks.”
    “Ready to go?”
    “Oh, yeah. I’ve been looking forward to it. But I want you to meet my dad first. It’ll just take a second.”
    Paul shrugged. No problem. Dads were one of his specialties. Somehow he found that he knew how to handle fathers—just talk about football and compliment them on their home and family, and they’d love him.
    Paul anticipated no trouble here . . . no trouble at all.
    Meg took him into the den, where a man lounged in a reclining chair, immersed in the newspaper.
    “Daddy,” said Meg, “I’d like you to meet Paul.”
    The newspaper lowered.
    Paul recognized the man in his horn-rimmed glasses and neatly clipped mustache immediately. It was the pharmacist from the Rexall drugstore!
    “Hello!” said Paul, extending a hand.
    The man did a double take and then looked as though he were about to bite off Paul’s hand. “You!”
    “Me? What—” Paul took a defensive step backward.
    Mr. Penny stood up and started waving his paper at Paul. “You! You’re taking my daughter out? No! Not after what that Jesky boy had to say about you! No way!”
    Meg looked totally baffled, but Paul immediately guessed what had happened. “Sir, I can explain!”
    His precious date with Meg Penny at stake, Paul Tyler explained, for all he was worth.

8
    O n the way into town he’d been lucky and snagged a ride in Clint Ziglar’s pickup truck. But despite a great deal of thumb wagging, no one had stopped to pick up Brian Flagg on his way back to Elkins Grove. Finally he had to walk the whole way along Route 9, and then another mile until he reached the dry riverbed, lugging ole Moss’s ratchet set in his pocket. He should have brought a flashlight, too, he thought, as he approached the familiar skeletal stump of the bridge he’d tried to use as a ramp. The sun was long gone, and night had clamped down tight on the countryside.
    There was a full moon, however, and from it enough light to see what he was doing. There were just a few adjustments that he had to make on the bike, and he’d worked on that machine so much, he could probably fix