A light horror story by I.M. Gerhi
When you grow up you find that you have certain talents, to be used for good or bad. Young Drummond found that he could walk through walls. It could have gone very bad, except that an encounter with a young angel changed the course of his life.
But what does a teenage boy do when he can walk through walls? Except for just wandering about wherever he pleases he gets up to mischief, such as playing pranks on grumpy old neighbors. First his paths take him just around the neighborhood and then further afield, as he pushes the limits of his power. Maybe pushing too far.
At the moment Watching Angels is only available as part of the short story collection Night Light Tales.
Read a sample:
It is a lot less fun being able to walk through walls than you would think. Not that it wasn’t fun at first.
My homeroom teacher would stand at the door, greeting us and marking us off on the register. I would sneak through the back wall and then go and stand behind him. When everybody was already in the room and ticked off on his register, he would start demanding explanations from the absentees.
It was always funny—him wanting explanations from those who were not there.
Then he would get to my name. “Drummond? Where the hell is Drummond today?” he’d say.
And then I’d say, right behind him and really chipper, “Here, sir.”
At first, he used to jump when I did that. One time, he stepped right forward and hit his head against the side of the door. For three weeks, he walked around with a red slash on the side of his face. That was when we started calling him Pinstripe.
But Pinstripe eventually caught on, and he stopped shouting out names, demanding explanations from absentees—especially my name. He used to turn around slowly from the door, checking behind himself, and then ask softly, “Is Drummond around here?”
—oOo—
This was earlier, just after puberty, when I could just walk through walls. Later, walls became a bit transparent to me. Not like glass—more like thin ice or waxed paper. I could make out rough shapes and colors. This was, of course, the time I used to hang outside the house of some girl I liked. Seeing only washed-out colors and odd shapes, a vivid imagination could fill in the rest.
I could walk through glass walls, of course. I used this to hilarious effect, misleading people who weren’t paying attention on some sidewalk.
…end of sample
Watching Angels © I.M. Gerhi