The Monster Variations by Daniel Kraus Read Free Book Online Page A

one of us. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t love.”
    After a while Mr. Van Allen glanced at James with vacant eyes. An instant later, he walked away. James stood there, his chest thumping, his neck sweating. What was he supposed to do now?
    From somewhere inside the house, Mr. Van Allen’s voice: “Willie. Friend’s here.”
    Moments later, Mrs. Van Allen let James in, crying, “Well, hello there, stranger!” She came up next to him, taking hold of his shoulder and bouncing her hip against his side, her other arm searching for an opportunity to hug but dangling loose when James made none available. Mrs. Van Allen was a heavy woman with silver hair lopped short. She wore jewelry and makeup, and plenty of both. In years prior, James had thought this decoration made her glamorous, but not anymore. Her cheekswere caked with a substance tan and muddy, and her eyelashes were gloppy with something black and wet. Her mouth was bright red, but the paint went a little past her lips, coloring the surrounding skin so she looked like a clown. In the days since Willie’s accident, she was simply
too much
—too bright, too happy, too forceful, too talkative.
    “Come in, come in. How nice to see you! How are your mother and father? Will you tell them hello for me? They’re such wonderful people, Mr. and Mrs. Wahl.”
    “They’re fine.”
    “Oh, how wonderful!” she cried, before James had even finished responding. James glanced over at Mr. Van Allen, who now sat at the kitchen table, his back to them, clutching that sweaty beer in that hairy fist. James got the feeling Mrs. Van Allen carried on conversations only to somehow please her husband. It did not seem to be working. A newspaper lay dissected before Willie’s father. Certain portions of the print were circled in ink. The only sound was the frustrated ticking of an electric fan. There was a foul smell in the air, like turned meat.
    “Hi, James!”
    Willie stomped down the hall, an engorged backpack swinging from his good shoulder. Suddenly he lost equilibrium and dipped, his one arm flapping like a stricken bird, before righting himself and laughing. James watched his friend struggle against gravity every day, but it was particularly troubling that something as unthreatening as a backpack could take Willie down.
    “William, you have your special pj’s?”
    “Yes, Momma.”
    “And you have your toothbrush? You make sure to scrub those braces.”
    “Yes, Momma.”
    “And you’re sure you don’t want to take … your bear?”
    Everyone knew that Willie’s teddy bear was named Softie, but evidently Mrs. Van Allen was trying not to embarrass him. James scowled at her—she never should’ve mentioned Softie at all. This feeling was followed by frustration at Willie for still having the damn bear in the first place, which is exactly what Reggie had been saying for the last couple years: it was embarrassing, a kid his age.
    “No, Momma,” Willie said, his ears going red.
    “Okay, then, mister. Go kiss your daddy goodbye.”
    Willie glanced at James, then dutifully scuffed his way across the cluttered living room floor—it didn’t
used
to be this cluttered, James observed—and stood next to his father. It was a ritual James had seen a thousand times, one he was glad he didn’t have to perform himself: the parting kisses to Mommy and Daddy. Only this time Willie hesitated, just for a second, and James noticed a passing look on Willie’s face like he was about to put his lips to something revolting. The fan ticked and Willie’s hair swirled.
    “Bye, Dad,” Willie said, pecking him fast on the cheek. Mr. Van Allen did not stir.
    “Willie loves his daddy,” said Mrs. Van Allen, grinning down at James. There was a smudge of red lipstick on her teeth as if she had bit into something alive. But when she hugged Willie and kissed him on the ear, the
too much
of Mrs. Van Allen went away and James saw only goodness: her eyes and how tightly they were wrinkled