Art ~ Writing ~ Life

Steve Campbell's Blog

The Pink Fairy.


“Maybe it’s your brother,” Dave said.

The person who entered the hall was not Matthew Kendall, but he was another teenage boy. He was short and stocky, and with black hair cut close to his head. He had on a gray-blue T-shirt, black jeans and black and white tennis shoes. He surveyed Dave and Lisa with big burning ebony eyes and a deep scowl between his eyebrows.

“Who are you?” Lisa asked. Her voice trembled.

“Get out,” the boy demanded. “You’re trespassing.”

“No I’m not,” Dave said. “You’re the one who’s trespassing.”

Quick as a flash the boy was nose to nose with Dave.

Dave stepped back, but not far enough as the boy’s right hand shot out in a fist and struck Dave’s abdomen.

Suddenly, Dave doubled over and gasped for air. He staggered backwards, falling against Lisa, and they both fell to the floor, Dave sprawled halfway upon her lap.

Dave sucked at the air, breathing hard, in and out, almost panting.

“Who are you?” Lisa asked again, this time crying out alarmed.

The boy glared. “Your worst enemy if you don’t leave here—now!” He stepped closer. “Or do I have to get mean with you too?”

Lisa dropped her gaze. “Why are you being so mean? Dave’s a nice boy.”

“He’s trespassing where I don’t want him. Both of you.”

Dave said, still breathing hard, “It’s not your property. It’s—”

“Shut up!” The boy suddenly leaned close to Lisa. “You have one minute to leave this place, or face my wraith.”

“We’re going,” Lisa said after sucking in a breath. She picked up the binoculars and beach towel that had fallen to the floor when she fell. “We’re going,” she repeated, softly this time.

The boy stepped around them and crossed the room. Lisa helped Dave stand, all the while watching the boy look out the window, waiting for them to go.

Dave turned toward him. “What happened to make you a bully, Craig?” he asked.

The boy he called Craig turned and faced him, his brows still knitted. “You have less than a minute to leave, four-eyes. I wouldn’t piss around if I were you.”

Dave spun and hurried down the stairs, his shoulders slumped. He left the house without saying a word.

Lisa followed him outside.

“He has no right to bully us,” she said.

“I’ll take you home now,” Dave said. He sat behind the steering wheel of his dune buggy and waited for her to get in.

“Just who does that jerk think he is?” Lisa said as she walked around the buggy, heading for the passenger side.

“He’s a punk named Craig Coleman. He’s—”

Suddenly, the ground trembled. A white flash came from the house and a hot wind pushed Lisa against the buggy’s roll bar. For several seconds, hot air, twigs and leaves rained upon them.

When it stopped, Dave sprang from the buggy and raced to where his father’s house had stood.

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