Dweller - Jeff Strand [64]
Toby reached for his glass of apple juice, spilled the bottle of ink all over the seventh version of the drawing he was working on, and used several words that he could never include in the comic itself.
“I’m calling it Rusty & Pugg. Not inventive, I know, but it has a nice rhythm to it, right? Rusty & Pugg. Rusty & Pugg. I’d read it, wouldn’t you? Also, I’m going back to the strip format instead of the single panel.”
Mr. Lynch tossed the newspaper on his desk in front of Toby. “I got three different complaints about this typo. It’s right in the headline. Makes us look stupid.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Raccoon has two c‘s.”
“It doesn’t have to. Both spellings are correct.”
Mr. Lynch frowned, then grabbed a dictionary from the corner of his desk and flipped through the pages. “I’ll be damned, you’re right. What the hell is wrong with these idiot readers?”
“I know there aren’t any monsters in it, but it’s pretty good, don’t you think?” asked Toby, flipping through the pages one by one.
Yes.
“I’m going to mail the samples off to a few syndicates tomorrow. Wish me luck, buddy.”
Happy.
“Me, too.”
1980
“Do you know what today is? I bet you have no idea. Exactly twenty years ago, I discovered your cave. Can you freakin’ believe that? We’ve known each other for twenty years! That’s crazy! It’s more than half of my life! And we’ve both got some gray hair to show for it.”
He scratched Owen behind the ear, which is where most of the monster’s gray hair had sprouted, though he also had small tufts on his shoulders. Toby hadn’t really noticed his own until his last haircut, when he looked at the pile of hair on the barbershop floor and saw more gray than black.
“To celebrate twenty years of friendship, I’ve decided that this bullshit about me walking four miles each way to your cave has got to stop. So look what I drew for you.”
Toby unfolded a large piece of paper and handed it to Owen. The talon of Owen’s index finger tore through the center.
“That’s okay, it’s just a copy. That’s the plan for your new house. Shack, to be more accurate, but it’ll be nicer than what you’ve got here. I’ve picked out a nice spot maybe a mile from my house, we’re going to cut down some trees, and we’re going to build you a nice new dwelling.”
“Hear anything yet?” asked Mr. Lynch.
“Not yet.”
“Not from anybody? How long has it been?”
“Nine weeks.”
“Well, if Rusty & Pugg gets picked up, I’ll happily cancel Hagar the Horrible to make room.”
“What are you drawing?” asked the woman, pausing to glance at his table as she walked to her own booth. Her tray had a single burger and fries—maybe she was having lunch alone.
“It’s a comic strip.”
“Oh, are you a cartoonist?”
“Trying to be.” Toby tilted the strip, which didn’t really help her see it better but gave him something to do with his hands. “The dog is Pugg and the human is Rusty.”
He sat there, watching nervously as she silently read the strip, which involved Rusty getting a letter from the IRS. She looked a couple of years younger than he was, had curly red hair, and had eyes that were such a beautiful shade of green that they seemed almost otherworldly.
Would she laugh at the punch line? Or at least smile?
He could imagine her smile. Radiant. Perfect white teeth.
“Hmmm,” she said, showing no sign of amusement as she looked away from the strip. “Interesting. Good luck with it.” She walked to her own table and sat down to eat.
Toby crumpled up the strip.
Toby had found a spot where he could make sufficient room for Owen’s new home by only cutting down three trees, which he was pretty sure he wasn’t actually supposed to be doing, so he hoped nobody would hear the crashes.
It was unlikely that anybody would. Somehow Toby and Owen’s forest had escaped the notice of the evil logging industry all this time (Toby liked to think that the loggers would love to ravage the land, but were frightened away by whispered tales of a deadly monster that lurked within)