style="font-size:15px;"> The only way he could describe it was how Disneyworld looked at night, with the illuminated towers and magic that hung in the air. There were no electric lights to illuminate the buildings here, but the sunset (which was not halfway finished) cast a beautiful radiance on the tower and the buildings below. Torches lit some of the houses and streets. Staring at the gigantic face of the clock Andrew saw strange markings that looked like graffiti radiating. They were symbols and designs and obscure markings of purple and pink and magnificent fuchsia that illuminated the clock face. Andrew had only been to Disney when he was four, and though he loved the atmosphere, he resented the crying children, many of whom were older than he. Also, he resented that he couldn’t ride the rides because of his height.
Here, though, was a new world, a world without crying children and height restrictions. The boy gazed at Sunsetville, his face illuminated by the falling sun. Here he didn’t have to be Andrew Tollson; here he didn’t have to be small. Here he was a man of the gun; he could be big as he wanted to be.
III
One watched the two climb into the dusty street. Tom Treeson sat astride a young horse, caramel in color with a rich mane. He recognized Nick, but not the other. The other wore strange clothing, shorts and a t-shirt with a collar, and a mess of dirty blonde hair on his head. In the light of the sunset the boy’s eyes burned. He had an unsightly bulge beneath his shirt at the belt, and had Tom known what lay under the boy’s shirt his jaw would have dropped to the dusty street.
Tom Treeson rode up to the two slowly. He was an older boy, dressed similarly to Nick, except for the brown top hat he wore. Nick heard him coming and turned to meet him.
“Hey Nick,” Tom said, tipping his hat.
“Hullo Tom,” Nick said.
“You missed work today, my friend.”
After a moment’s pause, Nick said “Yeah,” and said no more.
Tom Treeson looked up at the clock tower and was silent for a moment. “You missed one hell of a day, Nick. John’s laid up in the infirmary.”
Nick started. “Johnny? What’s happened? Is he all right?”
Tom shook his head. “Crawlies got him. Down below. He was fixing a leak, broke off from the group, and got lost a bit. The next thing we heard was his screams.”
Tom shuddered visibly, remembering that morning. The men had followed John’s screams through the sewers, heading northeast through the stone tunnels. You always had to remember which direction you were headed down there or you could end up in a lot of shit.
They had John face down in the muck, spiders crawling over his limp body. Fortunately some of the workers had matches, and they struck a light to scare the beasts away. Tom had never seen spiders like this in his life. They had been bigger than his fist, and fast too. When they saw the light of the match they quit crawling on Johnny and turned to face the intruders. Tom had seen their red eyes, and that’s when he’d lost it. He screamed and sprinted at them, waving his match and swinging the wrench he’d brought with him. The other boys tried to stop him, but he was too far gone. He hit one crawlie with his wrench. It flew and splattered against the wall. Splattered wasn’t the right word; exploded was better, Tom decided.
He had continued his rage until a spider began to climb his pants leg. He let out a yelp and swung his body, trying to throw it off. As he turned, he saw the black mass behind John’s body; hundreds of crawlies recoiling at the light, fleeing toward the sewer wall. Tom Treeson watched the crawlies in wonder as the mass retreated, and then finally remembered the spider climbing up his leg. He looked down and gasped as he saw the beast climbing his thigh in a direct line for his crotch. He swatted at his thigh with the wrench, oblivious to the damage he was doing to his muscle. The wrench tore apart the spider, which finally fell from his pants into the dark water below.
They carried John’s body into the streets above, and Tom had to wipe the shit off of John’s face to see if his eyes were open.
There was shit in his eyes, thought Tom as he told the two boys his story. Things could’ve been worse, though. John was alive, just ‘not responsive,’ as the nurses had said. As for Tom Treeson, he was just glad he’d worn pants that day. Otherwise, the spider would’ve bitten a chunk out of his calf or worse, slipped into his shorts. Either way, Tom Treeson would’ve ended up in the infirmary besides John if not for his jeans.
IV
Andrew saw the shadow pass over Nick’s face as he heard the story. The part about the crawlies especially terrified Andrew (he assumed the ‘crawlies’ were spiders, but didn’t ask.)
When Tom finished speaking, Nick was silent. No one made a sound, and the bustle of the markets closing for the day seemed far away. Nick finally said:
“Will he be all right then?”
Tom looked at Andrew for a moment. Then he looked down. “There’s no telling. The nurses say he’s breathin’ and such, but that he’s gone ‘comatoes’ and ‘non-responsive’. Sounded like a bunch of squabble to me, but I don’t know much about doctoring,” said Tom, with mystery in his eyes. “But as far as I’m concerned, they’ve no cure for the bites. The nurses said that the poison is long-lasting, and that not all patients wake up from their sleep. Sometimes they just don’t snap out of it, you know it?” Tom shook his head. “And ye know whose fault this all is, dont ya?”
Nick looked up slowly at the grand clock tower. “The lord of spiders,” he whispered, and now Andrew knew Nick wasn’t telling him something.
Tom Treeson nodded. “Old St. Gerardo. That luney’s sent his crawlies down through the sewers to feed,” he said, spitting while saying feed. He straightened up on his horse, and looked off into the distance.
“I’ll take my leave of ye, and give ye something to chew on: don’t be lurkin’ round here tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “Every maintenance man in town has had it with the old ‘saint’, or whatever he calls himself. Joe Freeman from the tavern downtown ain’t so fond of him neither, and we’re all gonna have a word with him.”
Andrew knew what that meant. Whoever ‘Old St. Gerardo’ was, his head was likely to end up on a pole, like in those westerns where the Indians got out of hand.
“But the door to the tower’s sealed! Oh Tom, you’ll never get into the Clock Tower.” Nick cried. All three boys looked over to the door. It was round and wooden, like something out a fairy tale. Nick and Tom continued to squabble, but Andrew kept his eyes on the door.
Am I meant to go through that door? His heart jumped at the thought.
“We know it,” Tom answered. “The wizard’s sealed it shut, sure. Keep us out. But we’ve got a way around his tricks. Stop by the tavern on the way home and maybe you’ll see what we’ve got up our sleeves.”
Tom rode off soon after. Nick, though in shock from this news, jumped when he read the time on the clock. “Oh! Andrew, we’ve got to get home real quick. My aunt and uncle don’ like me out past sunset, you know.” Andrew wanted to comment that he didn’t blame them, considering the spiders and all. He chose to hold his tongue instead. Before they left the town square, however, Andrew shot one last glance at the wooden door at the foot of the tower. He had a feeling he was going to open that door.
God help me when I do, he thought.
V
