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A Good Boy
by Desmond Warzel
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The following is an excerpt from A Good Boy. For access to the entire story, sign in or create an account to purchase this issue. "There's more," the kid said solemnly. "But I don't think you'll believe me." "That's up to me, isn't it?" "I guess you like stories, right? Like the one you said before, by the candy bar guy?" "O. Henry. Right." "Because this is a weird story." "Go ahead." "My parents know this guy—they've known him since before I was born. He's . . . like a priest, I guess, or a minister, but I don't think he has a church. He doesn't have a cross, or one of those star things. He always comes to the apartment. His name is William—I don't know his last name. My parents do whatever he says. My father says listening to William is the reason he got so rich and successful. So he does whatever William tells him to do. I think my parents give him money sometimes, too. "Once every month, William comes to the apartment, and he brings these other people with him, and we go into the room—we have this room my parents keep locked up, and inside it's black everywhere, and crazy stuff written all over the floor and the walls; and candles everywhere. William and his friends put on these black things, like judges wear, and light the candles, and sing these creepy songs. My parents sing, too. They all drink wine. Sometimes they bring something in a cage, like a cat or a rabbit. "They kill whatever's in the cage, with a big silver knife. It's usually so quiet when they bring it in, but it always screeches real loud when they hurt it. "I have to stand in a big circle in the middle of the floor. "William says he can feel me getting stronger every time they do it. He says I'm different from other people. He says I'll be able to do stuff I can't even imagine. He says I can make everyone do what I want . . . " The boy trailed off into silence. He stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. Stitsky lay quietly, considering the boy's words. He finally turned over on his side, facing toward the door, and tried, with limited success, to repress his laughter. "What?" "Never seen a movie, huh? You gotta be kidding me. I might've been born on a Monday, but it wasn't last Monday." "Oh." "You're one in a million, kid. I take back what I said before. You sure can spin a yarn." "I had to try," sulked the boy. Excerpt from
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