Nocturnal

Tard’s Job

Tard tried to put it all together, but it was confusing. His skin itched. This roof always made him itchy. But he dare not scratch, dare not even move, because the monster had left the house.

Tard’s job in life was to be terrified. Every night. Every single night he watched the monster come out of the house and disappear somewhere out on the streets. Tard never knew where he went. The monster could double back somewhere, close in on Tard and then it would be too late — Tard would feel an arrow, or a knife, or a bullet.

The only time Tard could breathe easy was for about five minutes when the monster returned to the house’s back door, but then the feeling slipped away — maybe the monster had another door, a secret door, maybe it slipped out, circled around the block, scaled a building, and …

Tard forced the thoughts away. Focus. This was an important job. Sly had told him so. Important, and tricky, like James Bond. That’s what Tard wanted to be, like James Bond, all smooth and stuff.

Tard’s hands trembled as he reached down — slowly — to pick up the cell phone. He couldn’t have it on his body, not when he was hiding, so he just set it on the ground.

He dialed.

Sly answered on the second ring.

“Chameleon,” he said. “How goes your mission?”

Chameleon. That’s what Tard wanted to be called, but no one called him that. Not without laughing, anyway. No one except Sly. Sly never laughed.

“Sly, he left the house.”

“Good man,” Sly said. “Just stay there, call me when he comes back in.”

“But can’t I join you guys this time?”

“You need to stay,” Sly said. “Something glorious is happening, Chameleon. It’s happening tonight. We must know when the monster returns. We can’t do this without your bravery.”

Tard wanted to go with Sly and the others. He was sad he could not. But Sly said this job, the watching, was very important.

“Okay, Sly, I’ll stay. I’ll be brave. Has Marco come back yet?”

“No,” Sly said. “We think the monster got him.”

Sadness. Tard wanted to cry. First Chomper, now Marco. The monster murdered people. And Tard was up here all alone.

“Sly, I’m scared.”

“Just stay there,” Sly said. “If you stay still, the monster won’t find you. And if you move around, what happens if Firstborn finds out where you’ve been all these nights?”

Firstborn. Firstborn could make you go away. Forever. And Firstborn had said no one was to go near the monster’s house.

“Do you really think he’ll find out?”

“Not if you stay there,” Sly said. “When the monster comes back, call me.”

Sly hung up.

Tard slowly set the phone back down on the roof. So slowly — if you didn’t want the monster to take you into his basement, it was best to not move at all.

Fear of the monster. Fear of Firstborn. The need to go out, to find a won’t-be. Wanting to be brave so Sly would like him, so Tard could make some friends. Too many things to think of.

Sly had said only the bravest of Marie’s Children could watch the monster. The monster had killed everyone who went near the house. Many brothers and sisters had tried to kill the monster, sometimes with guns and everything. None of them ever came back. So watching the house, well, even that was just dang dangerous. But if you could do it, if you could watch, Sly said, then everyone would know you were brave and everyone would like you.

Except Tard couldn’t tell anyone about his job, because Firstborn said no one was ever to go near the monster’s house. Sly said it was okay, though, to ignore Firstborn’s orders, as long as no one found out.

Movement. Down by the monster’s house. By the back door. It was the man dressed in black, the man who had been circling the block earlier. How exciting! Tard stayed very still, because he was good at that.

Tard watched.