The Burning Time Read Free

Chilton Arms.
    “I’ll pay until Sunday, if that’s all right. How much?”
    “It’s ten a day if you pay by the week, and fifteen by the night.”
    “That’s fine. Here you go.” He handed her four twenties and a ten. A quick glance showed only a few singles left in the wallet. First thing tomorrow he’d need to look for work.
    “Sign in here.” She slid the ledger over, and pointed with the pen at the next empty line.
    As he signed in tiny, economical script, the ring on the third finger of his left hand barely shone under the cheap fluorescent lights, the plain band so old and scratched it was almost unrecognizable as gold.
    The woman glanced at his name before closing the book. “Welcome to the Chilton Arms, Mister John Root. You’re in room 12B.” She handed him a key on a large plastic tag. “My name is Marge Chilton. I own the place. You come see me if you need anything.”
    “Thank you, Marge. I will. Good night.”
    “Good night, Mister Root.”
     
    *   *   *
     
    Mitch Anderson hurried down the steps of Hastings Mills Middle School. Danni’s old Mustang was parked by the curb, little puffs of oily smoke squirting from the tailpipe.
    He wondered if he’d make it in time.
    Question: How can twenty yards seem like a mile?
    Answer: If you’re the brightest kid in your seventh-grade class, and also the smallest.
    He’d bolted from World History as soon as the three o’clock bell rang, but by the time he swung past his locker to get his books, the halls had filled with students and teachers all migrating toward the doors, eager to begin their weekend.
    He was halfway down the steps and thinking he had a chance when the hand came down on his shoulder.
    “Hey, Tiny. Where do you think you’re going?” The hand spun him around to face its owner.
    Ralphie Morgese, resident school bully and bane of all the eight-graders, poked him in the chest with a hairy-knuckled finger.
    “You made me look stupid in history, butt-face.” He slapped Mitch’s books, knocking them to the ground. The boys standing behind Ralphie burst into laughter.
    “You don’t need me to look stupid,” Mitch mumbled as he scrambled to gather his homework papers. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d signed his death warrant.
    A collective gasp rose from the surrounding students. Sensing a fight, the onlookers crowded closer.
    The first punch caught him in the stomach, bending him over and knocking his breath away in a loud ”oof.”
    “Whatcha got to say now?”
    “Blow me,” Mitch gasped. Idiot! Three more days of school and you’d have been free of him for the whole summer.
    “What?” Ralphie held up an over-sized fist. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”
    His common sense shouted Run! but as he did far too often, Mitch found himself ignoring his own advice. “Fuck you.”
    The punch came so fast he never saw it. Pain exploded in his mouth and nose, and the whole world disappeared behind red and black stars.
    Mitch’s hands moved to his face as he fell to the ground. Something warm and wet covered his palms.
    “You little shit. I’m gonna—”
    “Leave him alone, asshole.”
    Through his tear-filled eyes, Mitch saw a tall, blurry figure stepping in front of Ralphie. For a brief moment, he thought his prayers of a teacher rescuing him had come to pass. Then his hope for a respectable escape plummeted as he recognized his sister’s voice.
    “Aww, look, Tiny’s sister is here to help her widdle brother.”
    Ralphie’s mocking tones changed as Danni Anderson put her hands against his chest and shoved, sending him hard against the railing and then down onto his ass.
    “Hey, cut it out!”
    “What’s the matter, little boy?” Danni stared down at him. “Is the big girl picking on you?”
    “Screw you, bitch.”
    Danni grabbed Ralphie by the shirt and raised him to his feet. She slammed him against the railing again, drawing another shout of pain. He took a wild swing at her, but she stepped