Whisper Down the Lane, Clay Chapman [best short books to read txt] 📗

broadcast, Mr. Cassavetes had stepped down from the stage and addressed Sean directly. He placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed, letting him know that the cameras were on both of them. That all the world was watching. Watching him.

It was also their cue that their segment was coming up. Shortly after that, the man with the headset had ushered them onstage. “Remember to breathe,” he whispered to Sean just before leaving him alone with his mom. Good advice. Sean nodded, repeating his sage words.

Remember to breathe…

Remember to breathe…

Breathe…

People swarmed around them until—just like that—they scurried backstage. Sean glanced out at the audience.

All their eyes, staring, waiting for him to—

“And we’re back in five!” the man wearing the headset announced.

Licking their lips.

“Four…”

Their glistening lips.

The man with the headset silently brought up three fingers.

Their forked tongues.

Two fingers.

So wet under the spotlight, so red.

One.

Mr. Cassavetes gave Sean another wink and then turned to the camera. “Hello and welcome back to our show,” he said. “We have some very special guests joining us tonight…”

Mom hadn’t let go of Sean’s hand through the whole show. Her palms were sweating. She must have been nervous, too. Maybe even more nervous than Sean. Anytime someone approached from behind, she’d startle. It was happening more and more lately.

Mom was afraid of everybody now. And who could blame her? Her son was the target of a secret network of Satan worshippers. The devil was everywhere, waiting for her to slip.

Turn her back.

Let him go.

That’s when the devil would pounce. That’s when his devotees would take Sean away from her. She couldn’t tell for sure who they were or how many, but she was positive they were among them right now, hiding in the studio audience. Perhaps even on the television crew.

They look just like us, was how Mr. Cassavetes put it. They are everywhere.

They were here, watching her at that very moment. Waiting.

The “special news broadcast” was on live television. Sean hadn’t understood at first. Wasn’t all TV live? Except for Saturday morning cartoons, like The Smurfs? He’d overheard the woman in the row behind him whispering about how Smurfs taught kids witchcraft. Not to mention communism. There’s a reason why Papa Smurf resembles Karl Marx, she said. Her church successfully petitioned their local affiliate to take that carnal cartoon off the air, a victory that brought this particular row of audience members much pleasure. Satan lost his syndication.

Was He-Man really dangerous? How could Papa Smurf serve Satan? Did adults actually believe this stuff? It seemed silly to Sean…Didn’t they know it was all pretend?

This was still a game, wasn’t it? Was everyone playing along now? Who was in on it?

Mr. Cassavetes explained to Sean that while, yes, his favorite TV shows featured living, breathing human beings, this was happening in real time. Nothing staged or phony about it. What Sean said would be seen by millions of people across the country the moment he said it. Sean didn’t understand “broadcast” and “on air” and “prime time,” but Cassavetes sure took it seriously. It had to be important, then, whatever it meant.

“We have a brave boy with us tonight,” Mr. Cassavetes announced to the people watching at home. “You may recognize Sean Crenshaw from the Greenfield Six trial that has transfixed the nation. Sean is one of the innocent children who suffered at the hands of his kindergarten teacher and five other faculty members who have been charged with satanic ritual abuse.”

Why did everybody keep calling him brave? He didn’t feel brave. What had he done to deserve all this attention?

He wanted to take it all back. Everything he said to Mr. Yucky and the Bad Snatcher. It felt wrong now, having all these eyes on him.

He glanced at his mother. She kept staring off into the audience. The sea of people. Her eyes never settled on one spot. Always moving. Never focusing. She hadn’t eaten recently. She was looking thin. Her cheek bones poked through but her eyes sank back.

Just her and him.

Against the world.

Just her and him.

Against the devil.

Just her and him…and Miss Kinderman, who sat on the other side of Sean in a smart light-purple pantsuit. Her hair looked different. Shinier. She was wearing more makeup than usual, even more thanshe wore during their sessions. Her shoulders looked bigger somehow. Puffier, almost. Sean slowly brought his hand up and tapped her shoulder. It was squishy.

Miss Kinderman belonged on TV. On Dallas with the other beautiful women. She smiled the widest smile whenever the cameras were pointed at her, or put on a thoughtful expression when Mr. Cassavetes asked a question that seemed to merit deep consideration.

Mom and Miss Kinderman had been talking less and less to each other. When Mom came to pick Sean up from his sessions, she would wait in the station wagon. He felt as if he was stuck between them now, as if this were a game of tug-of-war and he was the rope.

They were going to pull him to pieces.

The segment before had been a prerecorded tour of Greenfield Academy, now nothing but a gutted shell of burnt timber. Sean barely recognized it. Was that Mr. Woodhouse’s classroom? He didn’t even realize his school had burned down. Mom had pulled him out months ago. Maybe longer? It was so hard to tell, being stuck at home all day. You’ll go back next year, Mom promised. We’ll find you an even better school, with new friends. And better teachers, and…

Sean didn’t want to go to a new school. All the kids at Greenfield wanted to be his friend now. Always asking him what happened. Always wanting to hear his side of the story.

“Thank you again for agreeing to be here tonight, Sean,” Mr. Cassavetes said as he leaned in. “Do you mind if I call you Sean? Speaking out like this takes courage. Courage a child your age should never have to show…” Cassavetes turned away from Sean and faced the camera. “But the world is never just,