Wicked Grin

Wicked Grin
Laredo, Texas: 1949
“Mijito, wake up!” the boy heard. He rolled over to look at the clock. Was it time for school already? He saw the time; 3:00 am. Why did his mom need him to get up so early? “Get up and come with me to the police station!” Police station? What was going on?
The boy got out of bed, and his mother forced clothes onto him. She didn’t bother to brush his curly hair; it was sticking out in every direction. “Mijito,” she said “we have to go pick up Tia Jesusa from the police. They are waiting for us. Now, get our coats from the closet. Let’s go.” Bundled up enough, the boy and his mother stepped out into the cold, early morning.
“We have a taxi cab waiting for us at the gates to the apartment,” she said. “He will take us to the police, and bring us back. Your aunt has enough money in her room that we can afford to pay him.”
“Mama,” he asked. “What did Tia do wrong? Why did the cops arrest her?” The boy was seven years old, and he didn’t know what to make of all this.
“She is sick, mijito. She is very sick.” And she left it at that.
When they got to the police station, his mother asked the driver to please wait until they needed him again. After about 3 hours of waiting and watching his mother fill out paper work, the boy was ready to go back to bed. The novelty of this odd adventure had worn off, and he was falling asleep in the waiting room. Tia Jesusa was brought out from the back room, and her hands were uncuffed. The policemen handed her off to his mom, and they got up to leave the station.
In the pre-dawn light of the early morning, the boy found that he was afraid of his aunt. She had wild, uncombed hair, and her mouth was twisted in what could possibly have been a smile or a grin. She didn’t look like his beloved aunt; in fact, she looked more like one of the crazy, homeless people from the side of the road. She was looking somewhere far away, and was mumbling something under her breath.
He tried not to look at her as they walked back to the taxicab. “Help her into the cab, son!” his mother said, and he started to get in. “No,” she said. “Put her in the middle of the seat, mijito! You can sit by the window this time!”
They began the drive back, but Jesusa was not acting like her normal self. Her mumbling had gotten louder, now more like loud talking, but she was cursing in a language that the boy had never heard before! He was scared. He was very scared. His mother just held her hand and pretended that nothing strange was happening.
The boy looked down; to his fear and confusion, he realized that Tia Jesusa was beginning to float above the seat of the car! He felt himself beginning to cry, but his mother cried out “No! Don’t cry, mijo, just grab her hand and hold her down!” Jesusa’s cursing was almost shouting now, and he was beyond terrified. He looked at the cab driver, but the man was watching only the road in front of him, pretending not to notice what was happening. As the driver glanced in the rear-view mirror, their eyes met for a second, and the driver crossed himself and looked forward. There were tears in his eyes.
The boy tried his hardest to hold her down, and he was pretty sure that he was crying now. He stole a glance at his aunt’s face, and she stopped moving. She was still floating, but her eyes were now focused on him, and she had stopped speaking. She smiled at him, and he felt her grip tighten on his hand. To the boy’s horror, his mother looked at the both of them, and turned a pale white. At that moment, the first rays of dawn broke the horizon, and shone directly onto his aunt. Her eyes went wide, and she looked into the sun. She collapsed on the seat then, a cold sweat covering her. That was almost the most terrifying thing that happened when he was a kid. They never spoke about it.

Laredo, Texas: 1954
That evening, it was cold outside. The small apartment was also cold, with no fire to warm it or its occupants. In the kitchen, the boy’s large family was preparing for the evening meal. His mother was cooking dinner, while his father was sitting at the table, reading the paper. The boy was 12 now, smiling idly as he sat down, and his younger siblings were in the other room. His aunt Jesusa was watching them while listening to the radio.
“Mom, I’m going to the cinema tonight, to see a film,” said the boy, to his mother. She was busy, warming up tortillas on the grill. She looked over to her son and smiled slightly.
“What time does it start, mijo?” she asked.
“Umm, 9 o’clock,” he replied.
“Hmm. You’d better not, son. The gates lock at 11,” said his mother.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I can make it back in time,” he argued. His mother wiped her hands on a dishrag, and turned around to look at her son.
“Mijito, I don’t want you to go. If you’re late, you’ll get locked out.” The apartment in which they now lived was strict on its tenants, locking them in at night to ensure that they weren’t breaking any laws.
“Mom, trust me. I’ll be fine,” he responded. His mother looked at the clock, sighed, and went back to cooking dinner. Assuming her silence meant consent, the boy smiled and continued eating dinner.

*****
“Juanito, that was amazing! Did you see the way that he kicked the other guy?” asked the boy. He finished the last bit of his popcorn, and threw the bag on the ground as he and his friend exited the theatre. He smiled at his friend, Juan, who looked back at him and mimicked a kicking motion in the air. “What time is it anyway?” he asked.
Juan looked at the clock in the lobby of the theatre. “Umm, its 10:45. Why?”
“Oh shit! I gotta go, Juanito!” said the boy. “I gotta be home in 15 minutes!”
“Alright, man. Well, I’m goin’ the other way,” said Juan. He turned to go down the street, and broke out into a run. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” he yelled as he ran into the dark.
The boy turned to look down the street, and a strong wind swept through him. He felt a strange heat in the wind, forcing his eyes to tear up. He suddenly felt very alone, and not at all like an action hero. In fact, he felt like a 12 year old boy who was definitely not a man. He walked a few paces, but he could swear that he saw things moving in the shadows of the street.
The boy feigned courage for a few moments, forcing himself to walk slowly down the street, but his fear got the best of him, and he broke into a panicked run. He ran with the fear of the irrational, and he didn’t stop or slow until he reached the gates of his apartment. He slipped into the gates just before the guard locked them, and then he ran all the way to the front door of his mother’s apartment.

*****
“I told you not to go to that movie!” said the boy’s mother, as he walked into the small apartment.
“Mom, no you didn’t! You just said you didn’t want me to go! That’s not the same thing!” the boy countered.
“It’s close enough! You don’t think that counts?” she responded. There was anger in her voice.
“No! I didn’t get locked out, I didn’t get hurt, and I got home fine! Why are you so mad?!?!
“Don’t you take that tone with me, boy!”
“Don’t call me a boy!”
“I’ll call you whatever I want! You live in my house!”
“Fine! Then I don’t wanna live in your house anymore!” the boy yelled.
“Oh? Then get out!” she cried in response. The boy stormed to his room and grabbed some clothes out of his dresser. He shoved them into his backpack and left home.


*****
Slamming the door behind him, the boy stepped outside. He didn’t notice, but he wasn’t cold. In fact, there was a heat in the wind that didn’t belong there. He took a few steps away from the door, and froze in his tracks. He was not alone.
The boy looked up slowly, and saw someone standing before him. The . . . man . . . was tall; impossibly tall. He stood an easy 7 feet, but it may as well have been 12. His feet were not feet; they were hooves. He had no shoes on, so this was plain to see. His legs were black and woolen. They were the source of his height. He may or may not have had on a shirt. It was hard to tell, hard to remember. He wore a trench coat, big and black and infinitely deep. In his left hand, he held a thick cigar. In his right hand, he held a rope. Atop his head was a black fedora.
His face was the worst. He looked upon the boy, and his eyes were a deep, solid, depthless black. His nose was turned up, and obviously crooked. His ears were pointed up in a strong curve. His mouth . . . His mouth was split into a wicked grin. His teeth were possibly sharp, but it’s hard to recall. He wore a slight beard, but it may have only covered his chin. He was grinning, though. That much is certain.
The man hefted his rope, and the boy saw that it was tied into a lasso, of sorts. He never took his eyes off of the boy, but he discarded the cigar and began to swing the rope. The boy realized too late what the man intended to do, but his feet were anchored to the spot anyway. This was it; this was the end for him. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he started to make the sign of the cross on his chest. He felt his feet stop supporting him, and he figured that he was collapsing on the ground, frozen by sheer terror.
He was wrong. From out of the doorway to their apartment, his aunt Jesusa reached for him, and pulled him back in! The boy felt a rush of blood to his head, as he lay on the ground behind his aunt. He stared up at her, still unable to move, and watched her, and listened.
“I always knew you would return,” she said. “You can’t have him!”
There was a voice saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. It sounded almost like a bee that is buzzing. Or maybe a fly. Or a bunch of flies.
“No!” Tia Jesusa yelled!
More incomprehensible sounds.
“You cannot have him!”
And, just like that, the door slammed shut behind Tia Jesusa! The wind kicked up loudly, and the boy began to cry. He lay on the floor for many minutes, before he finally gathered himself. He wanted to peek outside, but knew he was too terrified to do so. Ashamed at his lack of courage, the boy wiped the tears from his cheeks and quietly went to bed. Tia Jesusa never came inside.