The Turtle Boy Read Online Free

boys
doing back at Myers Pond yesterday?" he asked as he strode into the
kitchen and plucked an errant strand of hair from his tie. From
what Timmy had seen, the man only owned two suits – one black, the
other a silvery gray. Today he wore the former, with a white shirt
and a red and black striped tie.
    He looked at Pete but the boy was
staring into his empty bowl as if summoning the ghost of his
Cheerios.
    Timmy swallowed. "We were
looking for something to do. We thought we might go fishing but our
poles are broken."
    Mr. Marshall nodded. As he
poured himself a coffee, Timmy noticed no steam rose from the
liquid as it surged into the cup. Cold
coffee? It made him wonder how early these
people got up in the morning. After all, it was only eight-thirty
now.
    "The new Zebco pole I bought
Petey for his birthday a few months back, you mean?"
    Timmy grimaced. "I didn't
know it was a new one. He never told me that."
    The man leaned against the counter and
studied Timmy with obvious distaste and the boy felt his face grow
hot under the scrutiny. He decided Pete had earned himself a good
punch for not rescuing him.
    "Yeah well…." Pete's father
said, pausing to sip from his cup. He smacked his lips. "There
isn't much point going back to the pond if you're not going
fishing, is there? I mean, what else is there to do?"
    Timmy shrugged. "I dunno.
Stuff."
    "What kind of
stuff?"
    Another shrug. His mother had warned
him about shrugging when asked a direct question, and how
irritating it was to grown-ups, but at that moment he felt like his
shoulders were tied to counterweights and threaded through eyehooks
in the ceiling.
    "Messin' around and stuff.
You know…playing army. That kind of stuff."
    "What's wrong with playing
army out in the yard, or better still in your yard with all the trees you've
got back there?"
    "I don't know."
    The urge to run infected
him, but his mind kept a firm foot on the brakes. He had already
let his yellow belly show once this week; it wasn't going to happen
again now, no matter how cranky Mr. Marshall was feeling this
morning. But it was getting progressively harder to return the
man's gaze, and although he had seen Pete's dad lose his cool more
than once, he wasn't sure he had ever felt this much animosity
coming from him. The sudden dislike was almost palpable.
    Mr. Marshall's demeanor
changed. He sipped his coffee and grinned, but there was a distinct
absence of humor in the expression. His smoldering glare shifted
momentarily to Pete, who shuffled in response. Timmy felt his spine
contract with discomfort.
    "Petey was telling me about
this Turtle Boy you boys are supposed to have met."
    At that moment, had Timmy
eyes in the back of his head, they would have been glaring at Pete.
He didn't know why. After all, he had told his father. But his father hadn't blown a
gasket over some busted fishing poles, Zebco or no Zebco, and had
waved away the idea of a ghost at Myers Pond without a second
thought.
    The way Mr. Marshall was
looking at him now, it appeared he had given it a lot of thought.
    "Yeah. It was weird," he
said with a lopsided grin.
    "Weird? It scared Pete half
to death and from what he tells me you were scared too. Didn't your
mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"
    "Yes, but it was just a
ki—"
    "Don't you know how many
children disappear every year around this area? Most of them
because they wandered off to places they were warned not to go.
Places like that pond, and while I don't believe for a second that
either of you saw anything like Pete described, I don't want you
bringing my boy back there again, do you understand me?"
    "But I didn't—"
    "I spent most of last night
prying ticks off him. Is that your idea of fun, Timmy?"
    "No sir."
    "I told him not to hang
around with you anyway. You're trouble. Just like your
father."
    Caught in the spotlight cast by the
morning sun, dust motes seemed to slow through air made thick with
tension.
    Timmy's jaw dropped. While
he had squirmed