Christmas Trees & Monkeys Read Free Page A

through the window. “Little Patrick’s going to burn. The doors are open. The old man’s going to pull another lever and the coffin’ll slide in and the doors will slam shut.” He smiled and wiped at a string of spit with his free hand. “There’s nothing we can do now but watch him die.”
    Kenny shifted sideways, sending Jacob rolling in front of the window. “You’re nuts, man. I’m not letting him die!”
    Jacob saw the old man move to put the casket between him and the furnace. The burning in his belly was now an inferno. Kenny crawled towards the window. Jacob jumped on top of him. Kenny dragged himself along the ground. He was seconds away from ruining everything. With both hands Jacob lifted the biggest rock within reach and crashed it onto the back of the other boy’s head. Kenny grunted only once. His left arm twitched, as if trying to shake off a bug, then stopped. He lay, unmoving, just outside the square of yellow light.
    Something dark turned in Jacob’s stomach. He ignored it, knowing that Kenny would start bawling at any moment. He looked through the window and hoped he hadn’t missed anything. He watched with renewed excitement as the old man pulled the final release, sending the casket rolling along the conveyor and into the oven.
     
    * * *
     
    For one joyous moment Patrick thought the old man was gone. The footsteps faded behind his head, towards the door. Was he gone? The oven doors must have been opened. The roaring of the furnace muffled most of the outside sounds. He wished he could be sure.
    The calm voice returned. “Stay where you are. Don’t blow it now.”
    “ Patrick, run!” The other voice, still heard only within his head, sounded different, not his own. It sounded like Mister Benchman. Still half-turned in the darkness towards the body, Patrick pushed himself against the vomit-covered wall. He heard the sound again, the rustling of polyester, cloth rubbing against itself. The coffin shook. Patrick had the sensation of riding on a roller coaster.
    The howl of the furnace raced around him. The old man hadn’t left. He just rolled them in. Suddenly, it seemed too late to do anything. If he opened the lid, he’d be burned alive. Patrick’s mind spun in a chaotic jumble of thoughts. If he didn’t do something now he’d burn anyway. What would his father say? He closed his eyes, panicked sobs fighting for release. “Don’t make a sound,” the calm voice said. “Shhhh.”
    The unmistakable screech of the closing doors. Now he was going to die. Again the sound of rustling beside him. Something grabbed his leg. An arm fell across his chest. Patrick opened his eyes, expecting to see the old man pulling him out. All he saw was darkness. Fingers closed tighter around his leg. Patrick screamed as he’d never screamed before.
     
    * * *
     
    The oven doors slammed shut. Immediately the shape of the coffin was lost beyond the windows, wrapped in a savage blanket of fire as the gas jets opened completely. Laraby maintained his grip the release lever. That was a scream he heard; it had to be. There was no longer any sound but the roar of the furnace. He looked around, up to the window. At that moment three thoughts crystallized in his mind: he had heard someone, the Kinsley kid was at the window earlier, and now he was gone. The old man looked at the oven door, back at the window.
    “ Oh, shit.”
     
    * * *
     
    “ Burn,” Jacob breathed. “Burn.” He saw the vague outline of the coffin in the flames. “Are you screaming?” He almost laughed the words. He rubbed his hands against the front of his jeans. A sudden, shaking release filled every corner of his body. He sighed in ecstasy. A blinding flash of light forced his hand to his eyes. The doors had been opened. Safety valves kicked in, shutting down the oven.
    Jacob leaned into the square of light. He shouted, “No! What are you doing?” The old man pulled the burning husk of coffin through the doors with a grappling