Brave like Billy

I’m in love with Marcy Grey. The only problem is, so is Billy Horrigan. The worst part is, she’ll go for him, not me. No one ever goes for the fat kid.

I was lonely, invited to a party—that’s why I went out tonight. It was my first time. I’d only ever heard about parties in busy school hallways and from my older sister. She gets invited to barn parties where everyone makes out and plays games like it’s their last day being young and alive. It’s never been me, but tonight I was desperate for a change.

Marcy was unlike any girl I’d ever seen. I felt ashamed to even consider that maybe, just maybe, this party could change things. Maybe she’d see that I was more than just my nickname—"Chonks." She was beautiful; freckles formed sweet constellations on her face, and her eyes were big and brown like crisp autumn leaves. Her hair was the color of bark peeking through winter snow.

Billy Horrigan wasn’t kind nor good, but people rarely see others for who they truly are unless they’re their victim. So go for the baseball players—the ones who feel they aren’t good enough for their fathers or think they’re less in their mothers’ eyes if they don’t win the big game. Just a warning: all that anger and hate will surface one day, and it sure won’t be directed at the deserving. There’s one late evening, a few beers away from shedding their true selves - after all, everyone is a wolf disguised in sheep’s clothing.

I arrived at Jill's big red barn fifteen minutes late. I thought it would be cool; I could pretend I had other things to do on the weekends, but I was still the first to arrive. I did my hair real good and asked Pops for help. He told me to hold still as he combed my thin blonde hair back with a product that smelled like laundry detergent.

“Doesn’t he look good?” Pops said as Momma saw me. She smiled, precious in a way that made you feel sick, knowing the moment couldn’t last forever. “There’s my handsome boy.” 

“You sure about this?” my sister Claire asked, leaning against the arch and chewing bubble gum that had ballooned to the size of her head. I nodded.

Music played—the kind I forced myself to listen to, trying to make myself like it. I didn’t. It was like spooning Marmite into my mouth. Quickly, the barn was flooded with people from school as well as unfamiliar faces. Marcy came in after a while, as beautiful and gracious as ever. When she walked past me, she smelled like sweet buttermilk, her hair bouncing and shiny. “Oh, hi Mark,” she said on her fifth pass.

“H-hi,” I stuttered. I do that when I’m nervous; it’s cute when you’re younger, but I’m fourteen now and no longer the cute chubby kid with the stutter. I’m the fat one people call “Ch-Ch-Chonks.”

Even though it was a party, everyone had a real stern look about them, like they were mourning. Probably because they were. It was the first time Marcy had shown up to a party in a month, so I’d heard. They said she’d snuck out and was tired of her paranoid parents. She was only seen at school ever since ’it’ took her little brother. Nobody really knows what happened, but we do. Kids know everything despite knowing nothing. When we were little, we already pretended not to understand the dirty jokes on TV.

I watched as she disappeared into the crowd, her pretty blue dress fading from sight. Billy Horrigan wouldn’t leave her side, wrapping his arm around her whenever he got the chance. I hated him for it, but I think she liked it; she looked comfortable. To him, I was just another kid to throw around, a punching bag whenever his Pops took it out on him. 

We all saw the bruises; no one ever said anything. Wouldn’t want to be a victim of his secret assaults, wouldn’t want to be a sheep. 

I stood at the punch bar, watching from afar. “Having fun?” he teased, blowing cigarette smoke in my face. 

“Only faggots hold cigs between two fingers,” I heard him say once. I ignored him, focused on my punch, keeping my cough in. I could taste the alcohol; it burned my throat. I wasn’t allowed—no kid really is—but I was brave. Brave like Billy. 

I felt his eyes peering through me, belittling me. He chuckled, “Hey guys!”, turning towards the crowd, catching the gaze of everyone in the room, including mine. He was a beautiful thing to fear; once or twice I’d caught him in a cough syrup TV commercial. I wanted to see him choke, not cough. I wanted to watch the light leave his eyes and imagine the chances of Marcy ever ending up with me rising. 

“Why don’t we, uh… play Truth or Dare?” he said, loud enough for everyone  to hear. Half of them kids moved to the middle of the barn, surrounded by hay bales and memories of animals that once roamed there. The others watched from afar. The thing about Truth or Dare is it’s all about taking harmless little risks. You say it’s for the fun of it, but deep down you know you have a lust for spilling out dirty little secrets that make you seem more interesting than you are. Maybe people will kiss, which spawns another dirty little secret. Can’t let your parents know you kissed the Gulligan boy, right? Or maybe the Miller girl.

Either way, that’s part of the fun. He looked at me when he said it, daring me to play. I’m brave, I thought. Brave like Billy Horrigan. Slowly I felt my legs move stiffly towards the gathering in the middle of the concrete floor. I was the last to sit, the eyes of everyone there piercing through me. “Maybe Chonks wants a kiss!” said a boy I shared three classes with. I’d let him borrow my pens since he never brought his own. That was my way of communicating—doing small favors for people I’d never get anything in return from. Pathetic people do pathetic things.

 Everyone laughed. Was it really that funny? I laughed a little too; that’s what people do when they’re unbothered, laugh. Billy said, “All right, guys, I hope everyone knows the rules!” They erupted into a loud roar of agreement. It was impressive how he could control a crowd. Marcy sat next to him; they looked good together, like a real couple.

As I sat there, taking in the moments which were soon to become a memory, one which I had hoped to be a good one, I couldn’t help but think about what happened here, to the animals—if they were slaughtered, given away. Sheep, Jill had sheep. I could smell it. They were slaughtered; that’s what you do with sheep.

The first few questions tossed around were the usual ones. “Who’s your crush?” “What’s a secret you’ve never shared?”

No one had taken a dare until Joe asked Billy, who sat across from me in the circle, “Truth or Dare?”

“I dare you to kiss Marcy. Can’t say no.”

At that moment, I knew I’d watch my dreams shatter. It was non-negotiable; a dare is a dare. I watched as their faces met, counting the seconds. Five. Five seconds, one would have been enough, but it took five for them to pull away. It sounded like I was in a zoo, monkeys screaming, making a big fuss. I wanted to kill Billy Horrigan. 

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Billy said once it got quiet. Bullshit. He only said it to seem good. Marcy nodded; not much you can add to that.

“Would it make you happy if I found the beast?” he asked. A wave of whispers passed through the barn. Marcy looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.

“Maybe…” she said.

“Alright then,” he said, standing up. “Since none of you pussies wanna do nothin’ about it, I will!”

The room fell silent. 

“We’ve all heard about it, what it is. It takes its victims to the Sinner’s Forest, to the circle of trees. That’s where it is tonight!”

The crowd was wild with enthusiasm.

“Thing is…I need someone to come with me.” He smiled, a grotesque smirk, his gaze scouring the room, searching for a buddy. Someone big, strong, stronger than him. He needs a helper, an asset. He’s going to go for Joe. His Pops has a sheep farm, and I’ve seen him kill.  

“Mike,” he then said.  

He called me Mike, for the first time ever, hearing my name leave his mouth was a satisfaction I couldn’t explain.  

“Truth or dare?”  

I was nervous, “D-d-dare.”  

He chuckled.  

“Alright, I dare you to come with me.”  

“Guys, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Marcy let out loud and clear.  

“Yes it is! Who knows who it’s gonna take next, could be you!” he exclaimed, pointing around the room at partygoers.  

“I’ll bring the bear traps, you bring your rifle, I'll bring mine too,” he said. Everyone had a rifle, it was one of those simple expectations of life in the South.  

Marcy seemed unenthusiastic but Billy did not care. After all, it wasn't only for her, he simply wanted the recognition.  

Tic toc  

Tic toc  

Soon now, the trap will bind its teeth around the monster.  

It will grapple, it will fight, and we will watch as it bites.  

I’ll watch as this beast dies.  

There are metal chains on the ground, wrapped around four trees, one for each paw.  

Thing is, there is no beast here.  

“Look, chains,” I say and point them out.  

“Yeah, and?”  

“It’s tied up before it changes.”  

“Yeah, that means someone knows who it is, can’t tie yourself up with these,” Billy says, kicking around one of the chains.  

“It’s not here though,” I say.  “You think it’ll come?” 

“God damn better,” Billy lets out. I tighten the metal chains around the towering birch tree which has shed its leaves on the forest ground.  

Pretty red and orange arrays of color blanketing the grounds.  

“But-but…what if it—what if it doesn’t and some random guy gets his foot chopped off instead?”  

“Well if that guy is stupid enough to come in these woods this’ll teach him a lesson, right?  

Billy stands there, big and dumb, staring at the trap in the center of the alcove of trees.  

“But-but we’re stupid enough to come into these woods.”  

“You calling me stupid, faggot?”  

I shake my head violently, I feel my neck fat wobbling.  

Stop being so pathetic, I repeat in my head.  

“No,” I say, loud and clear.  

“That’s what I thought, you agreed to this, remember?”  

I didn’t have a choice; you simply can’t go against a dare. It’s a rule in the children’s playbook. You don’t break a dare if you’re me.

Will Marcy Grey be proud of me when she hears I have slain the beast?  

The beast that took her brother, the one she cries sleepless about?  

I can imagine her, at the barn with the other chicks and guys, scared shitless, wondering if we’ll ever come back.  

“I’ve heard about the beast, it’s ugly and big, like you except you don't have the guts to kill,” Billy said.  

“Tighten that chain!” he says and points to one of the chains wrapped around a cedar tree across from me.  

I go there, crouch down, and pull on it tight.  

“You brought the other trap, right?”  

“Yeah, it’s in my ba-a-ag.”  

“G-g-good,” he teases and chuckles.  

“You know why I took you with me,” he said after a moment of silence, “cause you’re fat, the beast’ll eat you if it comes, I’ll have enough time to shoot it.”  

I am ready. I am useful for other things than death.  

We all knew about the beast, what it was, where it was. Simply nobody quite knew who it was.  

Parents, cops, and others in the area think it’s some child-stealing creep, a pedophile. But we all know the truth.  

“How do you know it’s coming here?” I ask.  

Billy turns to me, lowering his gun to the maple orange leaves.  

“It just does, Joe says so, he’s seen it here before, it’s where it transforms I guess.”  

“Hold your shit up!” he says, pointing at my rifle.  

I’ve shot it before, multiple times but never at an animal. Only empty cans of tomato sauce and beer bottles.  

Pops says I got a pretty good aim.  

The forest was silent, sleeping. Wouldn’t want to make a noise and give yourself away.  

Billy didn’t care, he shouted and sang, I couldn’t tell if it was bravery or stupidity, sometimes they merge together, become indecipherable.  

“Billy, maybe we should keep our voices down, wouldn’t want to give ourselves away. Stay low, you know?”  

“Why, you scared?” he says and points his rifle at me.  

“Scared that it might find you, eat you just like it did to Duncan?” Marcy’s little brother.  

He died last month, what remained of him was found in the lake by my house. Some boys found him on a fishing trip.  

People think it is some Ted Bundy kind of shit, that parts of him were butchered and eaten, that he was dismembered.  

Marcy’s Pops is the sheriff, he’s seen the remains, he knows it’s not some man-eating maniac, knows it's an animal. But we don’t have wolves here.  

Duncan was home the night he died, Marcy lives in the woods, not deep in or anything, just grazing Satin street.  

Her Pops says he was playing in his treehouse the night he was taken. High, high up in a tree.  

Must have broken its chains the last time. They were replaced, hopefully these ones won’t snap.  

But it didn’t make any sense, around thirty minutes had gone by, enduring Billy's horrible chants and songs, still nothing.  

The darkness was settling in, clouds had covered the full moon and a dim gray fog had rummaged through the trees.  

Throughout the night, not a single peep could be heard from the creatures of the wild.  

Until faint ruffles in the leaves could be heard in the distance, it could have been anything, but they were coherent, like steps.  

“Billy, there’s something here,” I whispered, and he stopped singing an old tune. He wasn’t shouting anymore; he sang more to himself rather than a pathetic attempt to intimidate the beast.  

He spoke nothing and simply listened. We had now both risen from the feet of trees we leaned against.  

We pointed our guns around, the noise grew louder, closer.  

It was here, we both knew it.  

My heart beat pounded in my throat - I contemplated if I was having a heart attack and held the trigger of my rifle.  

Was I going to shoot?  

Really, was I going to kill?  

What if it isn’t the beast, simply the kids at the barn playing a harmless little prank?  

If Jill or Danny appeared from beyond the trees, I think I would have killed them. Not because I want to, I have simply prepared myself for it; I pull the trigger, I don’t have time to examine if it is the beast, a ruffle, a sound would be enough. If I see it, it sees me.  

I could hear Billy’s breathing swell. He was scared, and I could see it on his pathetic face. Brave Billy was chicken. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his movements were jerky. I lusted to see him like this, like a normal person.  

Then, it appeared—the beast. I froze, unsure what to do. If I pulled the trigger, I’d kill it; if I didn’t, I might die. I watched as Billy shook his gun in the air, panicking. He wasn’t brave anymore.  

I went to an amusement park when I was a kid. My parents pointed out a tall figure of a man and said he was the tallest man that ever was.  

The wolf, standing on all its paws, reached the height. Its fur was thick and dark brown.  

That was all I could decipher before it lunged.  

I braced myself for the pain, for death, but I was alive.  

I was alive.  

“Shoot it, shoot it!”  

But I didn't, I simply watched as the beast engraved its sharp claws into Billy Horrigan's abdomen. I watched as he screamed in pain, and I watched as the light left his eyes.  

And never, have I ever felt such fulfillment.  

At that moment, I didn’t think about the beast, or killing it.  

All I thought about was Marcy, all I thought about were my chances rising.  

I sat still against the spine of the big maple tree, my back pressed hard against it.  

Once the beast had finished its feast, it did not leave immediately or pounce at me; it simply watched me, stared at me.  

Its eyes were brown like crisp autumn leaves.  

Billy’s body was disheveled and abstract. His limbs twisted and red paint dripped across him, filling his canvas.  

It did not want to kill him, it did not know what it was doing in its flurry of hunger and desire.  

Once she turns human again, she’ll forget, as the cursed always do.