Weird Girl by Mae McCall Read Free Book Online

as short as possible. Unfortunately, “short” is
relative when it involves a really long fence and a child who has been hiking
and playing all day. Cleo got tired.
     
    She decided to sit against a tree and rest her eyes for a
minute. When she woke up, she was in a very uncomfortable wooden chair in the
tiniest room she had ever seen in her life. It was so cluttered, it took her a
full minute to figure out where the window was. She squinted through the
dimness and decided that not only was the window filthy, but it was also dark
outside.

 
    5
     
    “Oh, so you’re awake now,” said a voice from the shadows.
     
    Cleo tried to stand up, but her ankles were tied to the legs
of her chair. Across the room, a large, dark blob started to move. A match
flared, revealing a man that Cleo had never seen before. He lit an antique oil
lamp and carried it toward her.
     
    The first thing that she noticed was that he was shirtless.
The second was his odor, a combination of tobacco smoke, alcohol, and sweat
(with underlying notes of perfume and gasoline). He had the hairiest chest that
Cleo had ever seen (not that she had seen very many in her lifetime).
     
    “Well, aren’t you a pretty pretty?” he said. She noticed
that his teeth were mustard yellow, and his breath was intensely bad. She
leaned closer and sniffed. Sardines, she decided, and black coffee. The man
cocked his head to one side and looked confused, as though this scene wasn’t
playing out the way he’d imagined it.
     
    He reached out and quickly swept the contents off of a
crooked pine table. Cleo flinched as glass shattered on the floor. He pulled
the table closer to her and put the lamp on it. “So’s you can see what I’m
doing,” he said with a sneer.
     
    Cleo found her voice. “What’s your name?” she asked.
     
    The man leaned in closer, until his nose nearly touched
hers. He caught a lock of her hair between his filthy fingers and caressed his
cheek with it before replying, “Santo.”
     
    “Saint,” she whispered.
     
    “What?” asked the man.
     
    Cleo cleared her throat and started again. “Santo means
“saint,” or actually, it describes a wooden figure of a saint.”
     
    The man again looked confused for a few seconds before
recovering his sinister expression. “Oh, I’m no saint,” he said. He moved
closer, until his mouth was right beside Cleo’s ear. “I’m a nightmare for
little girls lost in the woods.”
     
    “I wasn’t lost,” replied Cleo. “I just got tired.”
     
    Exasperated, Santo stood up and ran a hand through his
greasy black hair. “Aren’t you afraid yet?” he asked.
     
    Cleo thought for a moment before replying, “Not really.”
     
    He suddenly dropped to his knees and grabbed the arms of
Cleo’s chair. “Well, you’re gonna be!” he screamed.
     
    “Did you get my backpack?” Cleo asked.
     
    He pointed to an overstuffed chair in the corner. The
backpack was there. “Nothing in there is gonna save you, pretty,” he said.
     
    “Oh, I don’t need anything,” said Cleo, “but I would like to
offer you a breath mint. Or twenty.”
     
    He stared at her.
     
    “They’re in the front zipper pocket, in a little metal box,”
she said sweetly. “Help yourself.”
     
    Santo clenched his fist as though he was going to strike
her, but stood up and backed away slowly. He pinched the bridge of his nose
between thumb and forefinger, and Cleo wondered… Why do adults always do
that?
     
    With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes and looked at her. His
tongue darted out of his mouth and he licked his lips slowly, all the while
maintaining eye contact. “I’m gonna teach you about fear, little pretty,” he
said as he reached for a scarred wooden tool box. He put the box in the seat of
the overstuffed chair and opened the latches. He reached into a pile of clutter
on a nearby shelf, hit a button on an ancient black stereo, and upbeat techno music
suddenly entered the room. He grinned as he slowly