Free Run by Michaelbrent Collings Page A

did to him was pretty terrible.  I don’t know if you really want to hear it."
    "I do.  Tell me, please."
    "Well...how old are you?"
    "Nine."
    "Nine.  That’s pretty old.  But are you tough, George?  Are you brave?  Can you handle hearing about the awful thing the stuff did to my friend?"
    George nodded, wide-eyed, not a bit afraid, having completely forgotten his fear of flying in the drama of Fran’s small tale.
    "Okay.  But I warned you."  She took a deep breath, trying to convey what a horrible, evil, slimy, bad thing she was about to relate, getting almost as caught up in the story as George was.  "They took my friend into the basement.  And tied him down.  And then...."
    One last pause for drama.  "...they stuffed him."
    "What?"  George was incredulous.
    "Oh, sure, they had all sorts of food waiting.  Like Christmas feast and Thanksgiving and Halloween and Easter all wrapped up in one.  Candy, bread, pies, meat, chicken, hamburgers from McDonald’s, you name it.  And they made him eat it until he was, you know, stuffed ."
    She smiled at George, who was frowning.
    "That’s it?  The stuff just made him eat?"
    "No, they stuffed him, George.  That’s what stuff does."
    "That wasn’t scary at all."
    "Not scary?  I had nightmares for months after my friend told me what had happened."
    "He escaped?"
    "Oh, they let him go.  But they made him eat everything first.  My friend weighed about six thousand pounds when the stuff was done with him.  Sad sight, really.  He couldn’t get in cars any more.  Couldn’t ride bikes, because they just broke under him.  So did horses.  So any time my friend wanted to go anywhere, he’d have to call the coast guard, and they’d fly in with a helicopter that had a special harness for moving whales, and they’d airlift him to the grocery store, or to my house for tea, or wherever."
    George rolled his eyes.  "Nobody’s that fat."
    Fran rolled her eyes back at him.  "Says you.  But as for me, I always make sure to treat stuff well.  Especially the medium-sized stuff."
    She grinned at George, and this time he grinned back, a jack-o-lantern smile that attested to the fact that he was still going through teeth.  Probably had a pretty rich tooth fairy, too, judging by his clothes and his parents' conversation.
    George had just been had, and Fran knew that he knew it, but neither one of them minded very much.  The plane jostled again, another air pocket, and Fran saw his face begin to bleach white once more.  She thought quickly, trying to find something to say that would help him to conquer his fear, or at least to deal with it more easily.
    "Say, George?" she said.
    "What?"
    "You are a pretty brave guy.  And to tell you the truth, I’ve never been on a plane before and I’m a little scared.  Would you hold my hand?"
    She extended her hand.  For a moment George was shy.  Fran was a beautiful woman, and that fact was not lost on many males, not even those who were nine years old.  But at last he reached out, interlocking his small fingers in her larger ones. 
    She squeezed his hand.  "Thanks, George."
    He smiled.  Behind him, Mom and Dad kept talking about Malibu.
    A moment later, the fasten seat belts sign blinked off, and the flight attendants began moving up and down the aisles, asking people what they’d like to drink.
    Fran squeezed George’s hand once more, then let go to unfasten her seat belt.  George did the same, his fear forgotten.  Fran watched his bright-eyed enchantment as the flight attendant told him he could have any drink he wanted.  He wanted a root beer, and the hostess was happy to get one for him before inclining her head toward Fran.
    "What would you like to drink, Ma’am?"
    "Ginger ale would be fine."
    The hostess leaned over the drink cart, selecting a ginger ale and a root beer.  She handed George his first, and he attacked it like a camel just out of the Sahara.  Then the flight attendant passed Fran her ginger ale