Free Bible Camp Bloodbath by Joey Comeau Page A

ground.”
    Everyone laughed. His mother wore the white t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. Across the front there was a black drawing of a crow. It clung to a branch that ran around to her back, out of sight. It was one of her favourite t-shirts. The tail end of her snake tattoo came winding down the skin of her arm from her shoulder.
    “No wait!” she said. “This is a celebration. Fuck the banks. I got the job! I am gonna help make people feel sick to their stomachs! I’m contributing to society! Little kids hiding behind couches, that will be my legacy! Turn the music up!” his mother yelled. “Turn it up!” She stomped her boot on the table. “Let’s see how those shit dicks downstairs like it for once.”
    Everyone sang and laughed at the same time, and someone turned the music up. Martin’s mother took another drink. She stomped again. She stomped her boot one more time, and the table broke under her weight. Crack.
    Martin’s heart closed for that half second while his mother’s eyes were white and her arms were thrown up in the air. He lost track of the wine. He lost track of her friends. All Martin could see was the startled look on her face.
    She landed on the broken table and slid to the side, rolling when she hit the floor. Martin held his breath. There was a crunch. Martin’s mother was okay. That crunch was just the wine glass. She sat stunned on the floor. Then she smiled and came alive.
    “Fucking bullshit.” She scrambled to wipe up the red wine with the bottom of her shirt and with the tablecloth. “Fucking dog garbage,” she said. She was ruining her shirt and the tablecloth and laughing. She wasn’t hurt. Martin couldn’t help it, he laughed too. This was a cheap table they bought at a yard sale to replace the last one. Next time they were going to have to buy something that could support her weight.
    “Dog garbage” was something she said all the time. Martin had started saying it, too. Not on purpose, but he caught himself saying it every once in a while. When people spend all their time together, they start to talk the same.
    * * *
    “Your shirt is filthy,” Tom, the skinny one, said to Martin’s mother. “I advise you to take it off immediately.” Laughter. And then, after a second, Tom said, “That’s what I’m talking about!”
    Martin couldn’t see what was going on. He tore a square of the paper towel off the roll and carefully folded it twice into perfect quarters. He tore another square off and folded it twice. This would be good to start. Then he could come back for more. If he took too long, the wine would have longer to stain. He elbowed through the group of them all crowded around his mother. She was in her bra now, shirt in hand. The room got quiet when Martin pushed through to give her the paper towel.
    “Oh, great,” Tom said, “there goes our fun.” Martin could feel them looking at him, but he didn’t care. If she didn’t get that shirt dealt with, it would stain. The wine would stain the floor, too. It always had to be red wine. “Kid, fuck off,” Tom said. Martin ignored him, and crouched beside his mother. He offered the folded paper towels.
    “It’s red wine,” Martin said. It was a stupid thing to say. She knew it was red wine.

2.
    Martin woke in the dark, certain that there was a man in the bedroom with him. He covered his mouth to keep from making any noise and listened. There were quiet sounds from the street coming through the window, but what else? Was there someone breathing? A man could be standing there above him, just smiling. Any second he could whisper Martin’s name, his lips pulling back slowly, his hairy fingers slick with sweat. Martin was going to scream and kick and thrash. He could feel it. He closed his eyes and pulled the comforter tighter. Nobody was there. It was just the dream again. Nobody was there. He held the blanket tight to protect himself, and eventually he fell back asleep.
    * * *
    In the morning he woke up from