". . . Divers are confident about locating the body of Kevin Dob. . . ."  The woman cut off mid sentence, staring past the camera lens pointed in her direction. She frantically motioned for the cameraman to turn around.

Kevin?  What about Timmy?

The camera angle wheeled about to show two figures emerge out of the dense underbrush. Timmy, followed by Kevin, walked out into the open. Water still covered Kevin, little puddles being left behind in his footsteps, rivulets of muddy water taking flight as a wind gust drew them away. Even on television, the ashen pallor of Kevin's face matched the grey of the surrounding rock. Timmy raised his arm, getting the
attention of the reporter and cameraman, Kevin slowly followed suit. The crowd of people that always seem to appear on an accident scene closed in on the two. "Kevin!" A woman came into view. Huge, well beyond being described as heavy set, she shambled her way past the police and towards her son. Kevin didn't move. Instead, he stood there immobile as a mannequin in a store window. She wrapped massive arms around him, engulfing the smaller boy in a blanket of flesh.
Black splotches marked smeared mascara from her eye down the side of her cheek. The cameraman moved in for a better shot, shaking the camera as he did so.

A dizzying picture caused by the jerking lens swept across the screen. Police crossed the distance quicker than the camera crew and cut the two off. Frustration flashed on the woman's face, then she turned and, with a half smile, returned to update the masses.  "In an unexpected twist, it appears that the missing boy is fine and did not fall into the shallows of the quarry.  We'll try to get an interview with . . . ."

The rest was lost to James.  Timmy's face radiated cold, icy hate the boy housed within a tiny frame.

Timmy stepped forward to Kevin and whispered something the camera didn't pick up. The boys parted--wet one towards frantic mother, the other once again into the underbrush. One police officer gave a half-hearted pursuit, returning empty handed in less than half a minute.

Kevin's cap, worn low over the eyes, kept everyone, especially the camera from seeing much of his face above the cheekbones. The cap appeared to be the only dry thing on the boy.

James leaned forward. That's not Kevin's. That's the cap Timmy said belonged to his dad. He got up from the chair and squatted in front of the television.  Pixels, now huge, warped the picture until the patterns were lost in an array of red, blue and greens.

Mrs. Dobson yelled, "Was this a prank?  You think this is funny?"  The sound of a slap caused James to lean back from the screen so he could see what was happening. Kevin's head turned to the right so far that he now looked right into the camera. Unblinking eyes focused on the lens before turning back to the woman who'd born him. "Get your ass in the car and I don't want to hear a fuckin’ word come out of your mouth." Paramedics stopped short at hearing what
she'd announced. The haggard looking woman strode
purposefully over to the sergeant and, after fewer than two dozen heated words, returned to her car. On the far side of the quarry, a small form could just be made out among the underbrush. A form just about the size of a boy.

The sergeant, giving a half hearted smile, made his way over to the reporter.  "It seems," he began, "that we have a young prankster here who decided to start Halloween a little early this year." The group of onlookers dispersed, climbing back into vehicles and talking amongst themselves. 

"Sergeant, what will be done to the . . . ?"

Click.

James turned off the set. 

***

"Well, it seems we have a celebrity in our midst."  Giggling and hushed laughter filled the room. So far, so good.  James focused on the boy who sat in back rather than in his usual seat, still wearing the cap from the day before. Kevin's heavy coat covered his preteen frame, collar turned up. Must be nearly eighty degrees in here with that furnace going.  "I'd
like to see you during recess, Kevin." An chorus of "oooo's" came and went.

James returned to the board and went about finishing the math problems he'd set up. The sixth was nearly completed when he heard Tracy Swanson whispering in the back of the room.

"You stink, Kevin. Didn't you take a bath after going for your swim?"

"Tracy," James said while continuing to write on the board, "if these problems up here can't hold your attention, I'm sure I can find some that will."

Silence ensued.

The bell sounded a short time later and everyone filed out of the classroom for their brief interlude with freedom. Only Kevin and Timmy remained, the former at the rear of the class and the latter in his chosen place, front and center. 

James looked at Timmy for a moment, eyes locking while each felt the other out. "Timmy," James began, "go outside and play. I need to talk to Kevin alone."

"Mister Singer, I want to wait for Kevin," he looked at James slyly, "unless. . . ."  The boy's voice drifted off.  Kevin stood and walked stiffly towards the door.  The bully's face, what little could be seen, appeared waxen, almost artificial in some
fashion.

"Kevin," James said.  No response if acknowledgment came. The boy continued. "Kevin, come here now."  No response. James stood, hoping the noise would get the bully's attention. No response came except for echoing footsteps as the boy left.

"Better get him," Timmy said, sounding older than his years. "He doesn't listen so good to other people."

James turned his attention to Timmy. "What are you talking about?"

"He listens to me. Other people he kinda blows off now.” Timmy slipped his hands in his front jean pockets.

"Since when. . . ?"

"Yesterday," Timmy stared directly into his teacher's face, "at the quarry."

James looked up then and noticed that Kevin had gone.  An odor, like stale fish water finally reached the desk where the two stood.  "I don't. . . ."

"Yes, you do. You just don't want to admit it." The boy smiled. "He's my friend now, Mister Singer. He likes to do all the things I do now."

James caught sight of a circular bulge big enough to be seen in the boy's coat. "Go outside and play, Timmy." In a fraction of a second his imagination whisked from Kevin’s condition was in to the coin and his experience with it. The boy turned and strode out the door  From the window, he watched him catch up with Kevin, and the two head over to Troy Jenkins and Matt Holt. They were in a hot discussion and totally
oblivious to the two arrivals until Kevin touched one of the boys on the shoulder. Neither Troy nor Matt appeared pleased at the new additions to the group.

***

James stayed late after school, trying to catch up on grading papers, a chore that never seemed, to him at least, to have an end. Timmy’s words haunted him.

What has he done?  Is this just some elaborate prank concocted by the four strictly for my benefit? The flat "flop, flop, flop," of sneakered footsteps caught his attention.

"Mister Singer?" Matt Holt stood before him face nearly as ashen as Kevin's had been. "I need to talk to you."

"I was just thinking about you, Matt . . . about the other two, excuse me, three boys you hang out with too."  He gazed solidly at the student, giving his best, "teacher knows all," look.

"He says you know."

"About the prank?"  He decided to call the bluff.

"Yes, I know all about it." The casual tone he used was carefully chosen in order to put the boys on their guard fell on deaf ears.

"No," his voice dropped to a whisper, "about Kevin."

The fear in Matt's eyes more than apparent. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the corner of James' desk.

"This has gone on long enough. Tell your friends to come on out and let's put an end to this." Fear found chinks in his armor and James found himself looking towards the window, half expecting to see the scenery etched on the coin instead of a view of the playground and the housing development beyond the playground.

"They took Troy!" He screamed it at James and started to shake. Spittle spotted the desk from where the boy stood across to James' chair, droplets landing on the teacher's tie as well.

"Is this going to be another episode of the boy who cried wolf?" 

When tears fell freely from Matt's eyes James chose another approach. 

"Tell me what happened . . . from the beginning."  This is getting too weird.

Matt fell into the chair that normally held Timmy, crying openly. "Kevin wanted to . . . you know, have some fun with Bug Eyes after school." A loud snort came as Matt sniffed a bubbled glob of mucus back into his nostril.

James ignored the name and the action. "Go on," he said in a monotone voice.

"We followed him out to the quarry. Kevin took his coin.  Timmy didn't even try to stop him. He just muttered something funny. Sounded like he was trying to hawk up a snot ball." Matt sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. 

A tight knot formed in his stomach. "Let's have the rest of it." 

"The coin . . . it started glowing. Kevin stared at it and said something about feeling funny, then he fell over the edge." 

"You mean he lost his footing." James wanted an accurate account.

The boy ignored his correction, being completely locked into reliving the moment in time. "He looked like he was in some sort of deep freeze. His hair had frost on it and he looked like he was underwater or something . . . it just didn't look right." Matt looked panic-stricken, gripping the edge of Timmy's
desk as he had James'.

"Are you sure . . . ?"

Another sob escaped the boy. "I saw him hit in the shallows. I heard him hit. Don't you see?"  With that statement out the boy grabbed the sides of the desk, holding on as if it were a life preserver.

 

"See what, Matt?" James and Matt looked up to see Timmy and Kevin standing in the doorway side by side. Matt jumped up quick as a jackrabbit and shot to the window, trying to pull it open. The weathered paint resisted  A moan came from the boy as he looked over his shoulder to see Timmy entering the room. Terror filled his eyes and he began yanking on the latch,
looking similar to an angry gibbon James had once seen in the zoo.

"Enough, you three. Timmy, Kevin, sit down . . . you too, Matt." 

Timmy smiled that all knowing smile he'd shown the day before on the news and sat. He looked over to the boy still standing in the doorway and nodded. Kevin shambled in. Matt made no move to join them, choosing to stay up against the window, half on the narrow sill.  "Now suppose," his attention directed at Timmy, "you finish the story for us." Can't break here. 

"Sure," the boy continued to smile. "It's all just a joke, see Mister Singer? Just a bad joke. We're all sorry. It won't happen again. We're going home now, Mister Singer, okay?"

As if on que, Kevin stood and walked towards Matt.   James reached out and grabbed Kevin by the hand.  "I'm not fini . . . ."  Cold. Too cold. A realization hit him.  Cold as the grave. The boy stopped, reached over and pried James' grip loose with no effort. The strength . . . .  The thought was lost as James got a good look at the boy's free hand . . . and the raw stump where a pinky finger had once been. A sliver of white bone jutted out like a miniature pointer, accusing all. He pulled loose and back-pedaled into the side of his desk. Panic flared and he shoved Kevin towards the nearest row of desks, causing the cap to fall. 

A dent pocked the top left of the skull from temple to crown, concaving over an inch at its deepest. Dead grey eyes looked at James, then turned towards Matt once again and advanced a single step.

"They're just supposed to disappear, see," Timmy said calmly. "That's what the book said. Just swallow them up, like Troy."  Timmy chuckled, "So there's no evidence like the bad guys leave on television." He stood. "He died before they could take him so he's kinda stuck in between."

"In between?" James felt the last strands of sanity beginning to snap one by one as he asked the question hollowly.

"Here and Hell. But, since he's here, he has been useful."  Timmy brought forth the coin, uttering a string of words. "Znthgrutcion clwetricon Amnerinth Boquinsol!" The florescent lights burst, showering them all with glass. More words came, words too alien to even hear properly. They echoed off of the walls, ricocheting like bullets against a metal barrier.

Droning louder than any piece of machinery in the school reverberated everything on the room, causing James' feet to tingle. Books inched their way across his desk before falling to the floor and continuing their journey.

Kevin advanced on Matt again. James kicked out, catching the boy in the leg. A muffled pop erupted.

The dead boy dropped to the ground, still advancing in the form of a crawl.

The coin pulsed, giving off a familiar coppery light.  Timmy tipped it towards James. He felt dizzying nausea return with a vengeance. Without thinking, James grabbed up a textbook and flung it as if it were a Frisbee. The spine hit Timmy squarely in the face.  Reflexively, he dropped the coin etched side up, between his feet. 

James heard Matt scream, but didn't register it. 

Timmy weaved back and forth, threatening to topple.

Vomit poured forth, every drop landed where the coin lay. Instead of splattering, it disappeared into the coin as water would down a kitchen sink. From the angle where James half stood, still leaning against the side of the desk, he could see into the metallic disk.  Down past the labyrinth design that ran out to the coin's horizon, the depth perception greater than
anything a man should be able to see, or would want to. The cloud engulfed abomination raced towards the surface. Though tiny, the details both saw were terrifying. Smoke gave way enough to glimpse the thing it concealed. Appendages burst forth from yawning orifices and eyes, shapes of which never belonged to any creature that walked the Earth, focused in on an opening the coin made. A stench of decaying matter spewed from the metal object. The sprinkler system in the classroom released a shower of water, drenching everything in an instant.

Timmy looked down into the yawning abyss at his feet, shaking his head side to side in a rhythmic gesture.
"No no no no no no. . . ," repeated over and over again muttered from his lips, sounding vaguely like yet another chant. Icy air poured up from the floor where he and James each stood. A frigid fog snaked forth, covering the top of the coin and spreading out over the classroom floor. Glacial temperatures took their toll on the boy, exposed skin turning pasty before cracking open, exposing inner flesh which
clotted with frost before getting a chance to weep the boy's life blood. James could feel the air where he stood, the beaded sweat on his forehead cooled rapidly.

"Noooooo!"  Timmy screamed it, but rumbling the rumbling floor muffled his sounds. Plank flooring rippled beneath loosened ceramic tiles. Taped posters broke loose from the walls and dust forced its way through cracks in the concrete walls. The cold finally assaulted Timmy’s eyes, one popping a fraction of a second before the other, fluid freezing instantly
in a half-hearted icicle formation.

Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Matt up on the counter running the length of the room in front of the windows. Kicking out at the animated corpse of Kevin and catching the boy in the head with each thrust of his leg, Matt called, "Mama, Mama . . . Mama."

The pattern on the front of the coin appeared deeper than its fraction of an inch. . .miles deeper. Two black hooked appendages, resembling giant mandibles, reached up and out from the center of the coin.

Looking first like two black hairs at the coin end before twisting to a larger state which only insanity could appreciate, scything pieces sunk deep into Timmy's ankles, cracking through now frozen clothes.

Perspective warped around the coin, as if focusing through rippling water. The boy's feet and lower legs shrank and elongated until they were drawn through the opening inside the rim of the coin with ease. 

Timmy fell onto his back, still mumbling,
"Nononononononononono."  Shock overtook him, wiping
"boy genius" to simply, "boy."  Bowels loosened, adding a sharp stench to the already pungent fragrance. His arms shot out from his sides, blindly searching for something, anything, to pull against the abomination that tugged relentlessly at his legs.

Finding nothing to grip, palms slapped spastically on the tiled floor, frigid air whirled around his hands.

James heard what sounded like a woman screaming over the drone coming from the coin before realizing it was coming from his mouth.

Timmy's body snapped forward across the coin and onto his face, being sucked deeper in the process. The action repeated. When landing once again on his back, the deep gulps of breath quickened to shallow puffs barely escaping before being drawn back in. Then it was over. He'd been pulled in the rest of the way in length of time it took James to inhale once. Patterns on the coin solidified, creating a new design totally alien to the first. Coppery light dimmed and winked out.

James looked up from the now inanimate coin to see Matt Holt up on the sill staring unblinking at the form of Kevin face down on the floor. Swallowing hard for the first time since the insanity started that afternoon, he spoke up.

"Matt, come on."  He tried to sound soothing both to the boy and to himself. Got to get a grip on myself.  Survival instinct shut down and James walked over to the boy. Matt didn't move. "Okay, stay here, I'm going to get help." 

The boy just nodded. A spreading yellow stain marked where Matt’s terror had gotten the best of him.

***

"So where's this boy, Matt?"  The sergeant stared at James accusingly. He did have a missing child. . .and a hysterical teacher who claimed to know where he was. "He was right here!" The disbelief washed across all of the officer's faces, and was apparent to James.  "I swear!"

"And this coin you keep babbling about?" The sergeant flipped through several pages of notes that had been taken while James explained about the dead boy in his classroom. "This magical coin that . . . ," he looked James in the face, "these are your words, 'can steal peoples souls as well as their bodies.'"

"I'll give you this. . . ," the coroner said from the back of the room where the body of Kevin Dobson was in the process of being zipped up. "I won't know for sure until I get the kid on a table, but I'd swear he's been dead a day at least, maybe two."

"Found him," one of the officers announced, cutting off the coroner before he could continue. He led Matt Holt into the room. “He was curled up in the janitor’s closet.”

The sergeant look at the boy. “What do you know about this, son?”

“I . . . teacher . . . Kevin. . . .” As soon as Matt started to form a sentence he lost his train of thought.

“I told you what happened, officer,” James stated flatly.

“I know you did. You talked about ghouls, zombies and booga-boos climbing up out of a coin for Christ’s sake.”  He put his hands on his hips. “Now, just how sane does that sound?”

Losing composure, James pushed the point, “I don’t give a shit how it sounds. Just listen to me.”

The sergeant nodded to an officer behind James. Cold metal slapped onto his wrists with practiced ease.   “Damn it!  Get these off of me!”  He leaned in towards the officer, nearly pinning them against the desk before being pushed back.

“Look, mister,”  the sergeant lost the civil tone he was using, “I’ve got a trashed classroom, one dead boy, one missing boy and yet another one that’s on his way to the fruit farm. Don’t give me any more crap.  Save it for the judge.”

James was dragged out of the classroom. He tried to plant his feet, but to no avail. A dozen or so children who had come to see what the excitement was stared slack-jawed at the sight of a school teacher being dragged outside in handcuffs before being tossed in the back of the transport van. The door slammed shut behind him.

“Get me out of here!”  He know how insane he sounded, but he couldn’t help himself. “We’ve got to find the coin! It’s dangerous! Are you listening to me?” 

His screaming was answered by the back door opening.  An officer tossed in James’ satchel.  “Thought you might want these.” Then the door closed once more.