This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Published by G.M. Reinfeldt
SmashWord Edition: November 2012
Little Boy Blue
Estacada, OR
November 1950
“Phew, phew-phew.” The sounds echoed down the hall from Nedam’s room. “Zap! I gothcha’. You’re stunned now.” Nedam’s mom, Gloria, listens to her son down the hall as she did every Tuesday night immediately following Buck Rogers. Having cleaned up the remnants of dinner, Gloria rests in one of the hand-carved chairs at their beautifully sculptured kitchen table. She waits enthralled with each zap and phew until her husband Elliott came home. “You’re stunned now.”
“Nah-uh, you are!” comes a strange voice echoing through the hall. The voice was one part Nedam and one part menace.
Gloria shoots an inquisitive look down the hall as she lifts herself from the chair. “Nedam! Who is that?” The response is as simple as it is final. A blinding blue blast rips the door from the frame and carries enough force to knock Gloria over. Her motherly instinct kicks into overdrive. She is up running and screaming for her son. There is no response.
Frozen at the doorway Gloria stands before an empty room. Everything is gone. She catches movement near the window. With a single leap she is at the window in time to catch a faint wisp of blue smoke. Struggling to open the window she realizes it is still locked. The blue wisp vanishes into the trees that have stood guard over her home. Alone in Nedam’s room she is left with one thought, Nedam is gone.
The remainder of the evening was a blur to Gloria. Policemen came and went, detectives asking pointless questions and even the arrival of her husband could not snap her out of the haze. Gloria gave one statement to the detectives, “Gone. Little boy…blue.”
*******
Stuart, FL
March 1968
“Honey…Honey…He’s back.” Louisa whispers to her husband.
“Huh? Wha’? Never pay them no mind and get back ta bed.” Randall, Louisa’s stalwart defender mutters as he rolls over in bed.
With a little leverage, and 2 months with her Vibrating Belt, Louisa is able to shove Randall off the bed. He lands with a crash. Louisa peers out the window. The boy is still there.
“Whadafu…” the rage weans as Randall sees the little boy outside playing hopscotch. This is not an unusual site as there house overlooks a park. “He’s blue,” Randall stammers.
“I told you!” Smiling smugly Louisa feels truly vindicated for the first time in weeks. “Little Boy Blue,” as she called him, “has been visiting us for weeks. Do you think he will take us on his spaceship? Oh my, I have to pack.”
“He’s blue. He’s blue? That is not right. Is that fire…blue fire?” Louisa had mentioned her Little Boy Blue visits over the last 3 weeks. Randall had disregarded these comments at the time, but all the comments came flooding back. ‘The boy was back playing last night.’ ‘I saw the boy again. This time I watched him. He glowed.’ ‘Little Boy Blue was back. He wasn’t glowing. He was on fire. He was surrounded by a blue fire that didn’t consume him.’
Watching through the window Randall could see the fire licking the air surrounding the boy. Each flame releasing a small blue wisp as the flame extinguished, like a dying breath. Each dying flame was instantly replaced with a new one. Still Randall was not convinced. Some hooligan is tormenting him and his wife. “I am going to go talk to this hooligan trying to make us look crazy.” Randall pulls on his work shirt, grabs his muddy jeans and work boots.
“Honey, what will look better on a spaceship, blue jeans or a dress your mother bought for my birthday?
“What?”
“Never mind, a dress of course.”
Randall groans. Before he steps out of the house he grabs his new Remington bolt-action .22 rifle. He has never used the rifle on anything larger than a raccoon. He readies a single shot. One last deep breath, Randall slowly opens the door. He exhales loudly with relief that nobody was waiting on the porch to jump him. Randall quietly eases the door shut behind him, ensuring his wife’s packing will continue uninterrupted. He creeps to the corner of his outcropped porch. Gazing around the corner of the house he spies the boy skipping around. The blue flames seemed to radiate from the boy, rolling off in waves. Pulling back around the corner Randall grips his rifle in both hands, closes his eyes and takes one last deep calming breath. Randall can hear a disquieting giggle from the boy that he can only refer to as unearthly.
Opening his eyes, Little Blue Boy is on him, inches from his face. Randall’s entire field of vision is obscured. The flames surround Randall, but there is no heat. The flames continue to radiate from Little Boy Blue. Randall panics and screams a sound that no one will define as manly and accidently pulls the trigger.
The round pierces Little Boy Blue’s head. His face grossly distorted as it slowly evaporates in the night air before Randall. Randall is left on the porch staring up at the shining stars. The boy is gone leaving only faint wisps of bluish smoke quickly dissolving into a dream. Frozen in shock and terror, Randall begins to convince himself that this is a vivid dream and nothing more.
A scream from inside the house tells Randall that Louisa witnessed this from the front window. Finding a little strength he rises from the porch. His head hanging low for he did not want to look his dear Louisa in the eyes. Though he bravely defended her and the house from harm he pulled the trigger on a little boy. Still trying to make sense of everything that transpired as he unlocked and opened the door. “I…he…I…” He did not know what to say.
Louisa did not respond.
“Louisa, sweet Louisa, please know I did not…” Finally giving his wife a fleeting glance, he saw what had happened. Louisa did not scream as a result of Randall’s actions. She screamed because Little Boy Blue was inside the house in spite of his actions. A faint wisp of blue smoke lay around Louisa’s neck like a scarf as she dangled lifelessly 6 inches off the ground. The boy stands with balled fists staring at the ground in front of Randall, like a defiant child. Only anger marks the boy’s face. There is no sign of damage from the gunshot. Randall reaches for his rifle, but his useless defense lay on the porch.
The realization hits Randall he is too late to save his wife. He drops to his knees tears streaming down his cheeks. With a blink of an eye Little Boy Blue is standing in front of Randall again. Randall does not scream, only weeps for Louisa. “You don’t play fair.” The words spoken softly hang in the air around Randall. Through the tears Randall saw the .22 float into the room. The rifle reloads itself. Randall continues to weep, “Louisa.”
“Bang,” the word is barely audible from the lips of the boy.
Randall and Louisa collapse on the floor as Little Boy Blue dissipates.
In the distance a car engine revs to life. “Dammit, too late,” the driver mutters as he puts the car into drive, “next time.”