Enjoy an excerpt of
HOSTRULE
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Frankie entered the boys’ room at his elementary school and went to the sink. He turned on the water and put his hands under the faucet. His mom said washing his hands before lunch was one of the most important things to do each day.
Johnny Davidson was leaving a urinal, struggling to get his zipper up. Johnny was always late for lunch. Each day, when class was dismissed for lunch, Johnny would go and talk to the janitor for a minute.
The janitor, Cam Cainer, was just out of high school. Everyone said he was following in his father’s footsteps, which was hard to do because his dad swayed a lot, what with being drunk most of the time. The truth was; Cam was out of high school by choice and not through achievement. Rumors also held he was dating Sandy Davidson, much to the chagrin of her mother and father. Sandy was a high school sophomore.
Cam and Johnny Davidson met before lunch almost every day. Johnny was passing notes back and forth between his sister and the janitor. Only Frankie knew of the notes. Johnny hadn’t exactly told him, but Frankie had figured it out.
What was known was that the teachers and principle weren’t thrilled with Cam. At least once a day Frankie would hear or see Cam getting chewed out by one of the teachers.
Most of the kids were afraid of Cam. When there wasn’t a teacher around, Cam demanded the kids address him as Mr. Cainer – just like he was someone special. A story suggested that a fourth grader had once told Mr. Cainer to piss off. After that, the kid missed a week of school because Cainer caught him alone in a park playground.
The kid – Ricky Sparks – said he’d been out with the flu, but everyone knew it had been Cam. When one of the sixth graders asked Mr. Cainer straight up, the janitor said, “Maybe there are some things you shouldn’t know too much about, kid.”
That was enough verification for anyone younger than twelve.
Johnny finally got his zipper up and splashed water on one hand at the sink. He purposely bumped into Frankie and laughed. A moment later, he slapped his wet hand to his dry one, dried them both on the seat of his pants and raced out of the restroom.
Finally alone, Frankie put some soap on his hands and rubbed them together. He had just rinsed, when he heard the voice.
“It’s time, little one.” The woman’s voice was behind him.
Frankie looked up and saw something in the mirror. It was just behind him. Almost a fog, but not quite. It was more like tiny fireflies. At first, only a few small flashes of light, but as he watched more sparks of light appeared along with the ever-so-slight fog.
“Hello, little Not There,” it cooed.
Frankie couldn’t move. He tried, but couldn’t. His eyes were fixed on the mirror where it now showed lights dancing behind his head. Then something hard – something made of matter. Whatever it was, was coming to life before his eyes, inches behind him. Bright specks of light were moving as if in unison, dancing, rotating, weaving in and out – sewing in the air – now millions of thin, glowing threads. The threads were slowly building the shape of a face, a neck. It was like a special-effects movie, but Frankie was a part of it.
“Welcome to your new life, little Not There,” she whispered.
With the words, he had seen the movement of a half-formed jaw.
“You’re almost with us, my little one. Almost gone.”
Frankie was confused. He was seeing the firefly thing coming to life. He was just as before – he wasn’t “almost gone.” She was almost there! He could still feel the water on his hands, and could smell the disinfectant in the room. And yet, she – it – was talking as if he were the one that was changing.
“There,” the voice said. Suddenly, the woman was fully formed, as if her body had been switched on. Her eyes looked into the reflection of his eyes in the mirror.
“You’re gone,” she whispered.