The Night Wanderer by Drew Hayden Taylor

Author:Drew Hayden Taylor [Taylor, Drew Hayden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Canada, Teenage Girls - Ontario, Ontario, Teenage Girls, Indians of North America, Vampires, Ojibwa Indians, Horror Tales, Indian Reservations - Ontario, Bildungsromans, Social Issues, Fantasy & Magic, Indian Reservations, Horror & Ghost Stories, Adolescence, People & Places, Native Canadian, Juvenile Fiction, JUV018000
ISBN: 9781554511006
Publisher: Annick Press
Published: 2007-05-31T04:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

DALE MORRIS AND Chucky Gimau were not nice people. As the saying goes, they were “known” to the police, and just about everybody else. They had grown up in Otter Lake, and other than a four-year stint traveling a small part of the country enjoying some of the finer local and provincial jails, they were content to live at their dead uncle’s house and do what they could to survive. Often at other people’s expense. They were known to fight at the drop of a hat, and whether they won or lost was often irrelevant. Who they fought sometimes seemed an afterthought too. They just loved the feel of a bony hand crashing onto a chubby chin, or a workboot burying itself deep in the belly of some poor fool. They were simple people with simple pleasures.

They grew small amounts of pot way back in the woods, which helped offset the expenses of their slothlike existence. Neither would know what to do with a job application form unless it was to roll it up into a joint. Though Dale was remarkably handsome, substantially more than his slow-witted cousin Chucky, both had the look of people who were just marking time until the law, God, or some other larger influence swooped down and saw to it their ending was much more interesting than their life.

Chucky’s real name was Maurice, but for a number of reasons he had willingly taken the nickname of a demented and possessed doll made famous by a string of supernatural horror movies. First of all, he was shorter than Dale, by about five inches. And secondly, “Like the doll, I always come back!” he liked to say proudly. Mainly though, he changed it because when he was young, most of his family shortened his real name, Maurice, down to Mo when they referred to him. And “Mo” is an abbreviated Anishinabe word for shit. Everybody, except Chucky, found that quite hilarious.

At this very moment, both were driving back from town, where they had just picked up some beer and groceries which included several boxes of Kraft Dinner, something they considered their own personal manna from heaven. On special occasions, they would add chopped wieners to the pot. Despite their poor diet, they had managed to grow fairly strong. This made pushing people around and beating them up far simpler.

Tonight, however, payback had come to town.

“Hey, look,” said Dale. He was pointing to the ballfield. Chucky squinted in the darkness. Since it was late and there was no game, the floodlights were not on.

“Where? Where . . . where you pointin’?”

Dale shoved his arm right past Chucky’s nose, almost taking the tip off. “Over there, you idiot, on the bleachers. There’s somebody sitting there.” Dale slowed the car down, an old beat-up Honda Civic. Two bags of groceries fell over in the back seat, spilling boxes of macaroni and cheese all over the floor. “See him now?”

Not wanting to disappoint his cousin, Chucky’s eyes scanned the bleachers as ordered.

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