The Fourth Stall by Chris Rylander Read Free Book Online Page B

where we would play all of the board games we owned on the same day. And we would track our scores and keep records of who was winning and losing in this huge notebook. That was Vince’s idea. Turned out he was obsessed with statistics and records even back then. It’s no surprise he eventually became the business manager.
    The point is: We were pretty inseparable. And one of our favorite things to do was to bring all of our action figures to this huge playground in the middle of the trailer park and play desert action movies and stuff. We did this almost every single day during that summer between kindergarten and first grade.
    But one day we got there and found the sandbox occupied.
    Some kid sat in it playing with a Tonka truck. He wore a black cape and his dark hair was all slicked back tightly like a smear of oil.
    “Hey, this is our spot,” I said.
    The caped kid looked up; his face was cool and calm.
    “Noch tchoday hittsch shoht,” he sloshed, spit spraying from his mouth.
    “What?” Vince asked.
    The kid held up his index finger and then reached into his mouth and removed a set of white vampire teeth.
    “I saaaaaid, not tooodaay it’s not,” he replied, and smiled a dark and evil grin.
    “Look, we’ve been coming here every day for forever, so you should move. You can go play in the sand under the swings,” I said, pointing over the kid’s shoulder. “It’s big enough for you to play in, but it’s not big enough for us. That’s fair, right?”
    The kid continued to smile and said, “Kristoff, the Dark One, moves for no mortal.”
    “Well, it’s two against one, and we’ll beat you up, so you should just move, okay?” I said. I didn’t really like making threats, but we just wanted to play. Even an immortal vampire was no match for the two of us and I think he knew it.
    “Yer gonna pay for this,” Kristoff said as he got to his feet. He shoved the teeth back into his mouth, tucked his truck under an arm, grabbed the edges of his cape, and ran toward a white trailer across the street. He flapped the cape continuously the whole way home.
    We sat down in the sand and began to play. About twenty minutes later I spotted Kristoff making his way back into the park. And this time he had someone else with him.
    “Uh-oh, look who’s back,” I said.
    Vince turned and watched Kristoff and an older kid slowly make their way over to the sandbox. They stopped about ten feet from the edge of the sand. A huge smile was planted on Kristoff’s face. The older kid was maybe a third or fourth grader. When you’re in kindergarten, a third or fourth grader can be pretty intimidating.
    “Who’s that?” I asked.
    “This is my brother, Mike,” Kristoff said.
    We looked at Mike. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. He didn’t really look that mean or scary. But he was big and he was scowling at us.
    “I heard you little punks have been giving my brother a hard time,” Mike said.
    “Oh no, he totally started it. He took our spot,” I said.
    “Well, that’s not what he says, so how about you guys move so he can play in that there sandbox?”
    Vince and I looked at each other. We shrugged.
    “Well, we’re playing right now,” I said.
    “See, they’re jerks!” Kristoff squealed.
    Mike nodded.
    “You can play over there,” I said, pointing at the swing set sand.
    “Noooo, he’s going to play right there in that sandbox and you’re going to move,” Mike said.
    “You gonna make us?” Vince asked defiantly.
    Instead of answering, Mike started walking toward us. I hadn’t been all that scared up to that point, but suddenly as this older kid approached looking more and more like a giant, it began to seem possible that Vince and I might soon find our faces forcibly buried in sand.
    When Mike was just a few feet away, I said, “It’s two against one, you know.”
    He responded by reaching out for my shirt, and as I tried to back away, my feet tangled and I fell onto my butt in the sand. Then the terror