Chad Lucas - Let the Monster Out

PUBLISHERS NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 978-1-4197-5126-4
eISBN 978-1-6470-0542-9

Text 2022 Chad Lucas
Book design by Chelsea Hunter

Published in 2022 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

Amulet Books is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

ABRAMS The Art of Books
195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007
abramsbooks.com

For the kids who are learning that other peoples eyes are not mirrors

Branches lashed Wade Elliotts face as he hurtled through the forest. Thick clouds hid the moon. Hed already lost his bearings in the dark, but he didnt slow down. He skidded down a bank, scrambled to his feet, and kept moving. He had to get as far as possible from that room. The room hed helped build.

No. No. He was only trying to fix things, to help people. But theyd turned it upside down.

Pain stabbed his side. His throat burned with the metallic taste of blood. He fell at the base of a pine tree, panting.

Gradually, his pulse stopped pounding in his ears. He heard the trickle of a brook, the rustle of wind tickling the treetops. He rested his head against the tree trunk. He could hear, taste, touch. This was the real world.

Exhaustion set in, but when his eyelids drooped, the things hed seen in that room came back.

No. He had escaped. He had to fight it. He couldnt let

A crows caw stirred him. He gathered his bearings: He was outdoors, in a forest, under a misty gray sky at the break of dawn. He shivered. Had he slept? Was this real?

He stood and paced, shaking stiffness from his limbs. He had to know for sure he was hereand that here wasnt all in his head. Balling his fist, he punched the trunk of the pine. His knuckles split and pain pulsed through his hand.

It hurt. He felt it. He smiled.

He punched the tree again. Again. Again. He stepped back and stared at his hand. The flesh swelled and reddened. He savored the steady ache. This had to be real. He threw back his head and laughed and laughed.

The crows laughed too.

Wade looked up. A dozen of them sat in the trees, mocking him.

No! he shouted at the birds. You cant do that! Shut up!

Ha ha ha, they cackled. Isnt this fun? Lets all go into town and watch it burn.

Shut up! he shrieked.

Come with us, Wade. Its such a fun game. A murder of crows, a-murdering we go.

They rose from the branches and circled the clearing, above his head. A murder of crows, a-murdering we go. Soon there were two dozen, forty, fifty, a hundred. The sky darkened under a vortex of swirling black birds.

Wade wept. It wasnt over. It would never be over. Not for him.

He brought his aching, trembling fingers to the inside pocket of his jacket. Good. His journal was still there. He had to deliver it, show them the proof, before everyone saw the things hed seen. If that happened, it would be too late.

So he ran.

Bones Malone didnt punch Tony Spezio in the face.

Not after he found Tony picking on his little brothers. Not even after he told Tony to knock it off, and Tony responded by saying something unrepeatably gross about his mother.

Sure, he did shove Tony against the basement wall and yell, Talk about my mom again and I will end you. But that was better than throwing fists, right?

He was trying. That counted for something, right?

Not in Eileen Spezios book. She thumped downstairs just in time to hear the end you part and blamed everything on Bones, as usual.

You will not behave like a thug in my home! she screeched.

Bones saw red. A white lady calling him a thug was not OK, but he held his tongue. Well, almost.

Teach your kid some manners, before he gets himself beat, he shot back.

Mrs. Spezios eyes bulged and spit gathered at the corners of her mouth as she lost her mind. Tony smirked over her shoulder the whole time, while heat built in Boness chest. He couldnt stop picturing how satisfying it would feel to shove past Mrs. Spezio and knock that smug grin off Tonys extremely punchable face.

But he didnt. Not this time. He was trying, for his moms sake.

But that didnt count in her book either. She got an earful from Eileen when she picked up the boys after work. Bones could hear every word with his ear to the door of the spare room where Mrs. Spezio had banished all three Malone boys, even though Raury and Dillon hadnt done anything wrong.

I know youre new in town, and I was happy to open my home to your boys, but that oldest of yours is so disrespectful, so aggressive...

Bones couldnt hear his moms reply, but he recognized its tone: weary. It wasnt the first time shed apologized on his behalf. When she opened the bedroom door, all she said was, Lets go. The boys hurried to catch up as she marched out of the Spezios house and down the sidewalk, each step radiating fury.

Is the car still broken? Dillon asked.

Yep. She practically hurled the word to the sidewalk.

Bones was only

We are not discussing this now.

She met Boness eyes for half a second. If I have to give that woman a raise to let you stay, she murmured, you best believe its coming from your allowance.

Bones waited as long as he could stand it. He made his brothers wash up and set the table before he approached his mother. She didnt lift her eyes from the pot of spaghetti boiling on the stove, but her shoulders rose.

Not now, Quentin.

Ugh. He hated his real name. She usually reserved it for formal situations, like the first time they met with a lawyer. When she used it at home, it was a warning.

He swallowed all the things he wanted to say: He was only defending Raury, again; the Spezios had been awful since day one; hed be thirteen in September and he was perfectly capable of watching his brothers, so she should stop paying a useless babysitter anyway.