"'Twas brilling, and the silthy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves
And the mome graths outgrabe."
***
The lad trembled. "I don't want to."
"You have to," came the crackling voice.
The boy, no more than twelve, shook his head furiously. "But I don't want to. I'm frightened."
"We are all frightened sometimes, Neb. Learning to face our fears is part of becoming a man," the voice was scratchy, and sounded like it came from a long way away.
"But-"
"But what, Neb? You're not going to disappoint the Pack again, are you?"
The dark haired lad's eyes cast downward. He did not want to remember that. He did not want to remember last summer, when he had failed the Pack. He did not want to remember the days after, when they teased him and taunted him mercilessly.
"Neb?" The scratchy voice seemed to be losing its patience. Like a leather strap drawn across a rock, it seemed to be fraying at the edges.
"But I'm scared." Neb answered.
"What's there to be scared of? We're all here - in the next cabin over."
That was a point, Neb reasoned. They were not that far away. He looked across the way and in amongst the trees, he could almost see the lights from the other cabin. They would not let him have lights here, however. It was part of the ritual.
Just then, something scraped outside the shed. It sounded like a rake scratching across tin. Neb was glad he'd gone before the ritual--if he hadn't, he'd be feeling something warm running down his leg right about now.
The scratchy voice came again, "Neb?"
"T-there's something here."
"It's probably them...they're coming, Neb. Get ready."
"They who?" Neb's voice was pitchy and erratic. His vision was becoming all swishy. There was water on his face.
It seemed that there was laughter behind the scratchy voice. "The Mome Graths, Neb...they're outside! We can see them!"
Neb threw down his radio and ran for the door. He wanted out. He no longer cared about becoming a Second Degree Firebrand Scout. He wanted out! He jerked the door open and screamed. Something stood before him...something right out of his nightmares.
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves
And the mome graths outgrabe."
***
The lad trembled. "I don't want to."
"You have to," came the crackling voice.
The boy, no more than twelve, shook his head furiously. "But I don't want to. I'm frightened."
"We are all frightened sometimes, Neb. Learning to face our fears is part of becoming a man," the voice was scratchy, and sounded like it came from a long way away.
"But-"
"But what, Neb? You're not going to disappoint the Pack again, are you?"
The dark haired lad's eyes cast downward. He did not want to remember that. He did not want to remember last summer, when he had failed the Pack. He did not want to remember the days after, when they teased him and taunted him mercilessly.
"Neb?" The scratchy voice seemed to be losing its patience. Like a leather strap drawn across a rock, it seemed to be fraying at the edges.
"But I'm scared." Neb answered.
"What's there to be scared of? We're all here - in the next cabin over."
That was a point, Neb reasoned. They were not that far away. He looked across the way and in amongst the trees, he could almost see the lights from the other cabin. They would not let him have lights here, however. It was part of the ritual.
Just then, something scraped outside the shed. It sounded like a rake scratching across tin. Neb was glad he'd gone before the ritual--if he hadn't, he'd be feeling something warm running down his leg right about now.
The scratchy voice came again, "Neb?"
"T-there's something here."
"It's probably them...they're coming, Neb. Get ready."
"They who?" Neb's voice was pitchy and erratic. His vision was becoming all swishy. There was water on his face.
It seemed that there was laughter behind the scratchy voice. "The Mome Graths, Neb...they're outside! We can see them!"
Neb threw down his radio and ran for the door. He wanted out. He no longer cared about becoming a Second Degree Firebrand Scout. He wanted out! He jerked the door open and screamed. Something stood before him...something right out of his nightmares.
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth
#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #spooky, #boyhood, #prank, #ghosttale, #momegrath, #LewisCarrol, #jabberwocky
0 comments:
Post a Comment