The Boy

By Tom Holland

All they talked about in the Barrio was The Boy. He touched you and you were rid of whatever ailed you. Audie Cardozo thought he was just a legend, until, he grabbed a strange kid off the street. He was deaf and dumb, but he looked the part. Audie thought he could use him in a scam, only to find out he was The Boy and he could cure any sickness. That’s when Audie’s problems really began.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Holland
• Release date: Jun 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301554836

Tom Holland

Master of Terror - Tom Holland publishes his first eBook short stories via Dead Rabbit Media. Tom Holland’s impressive resume of work has earned him a spot among the best horror creators in Hollywood. From bringing to life the unforgettable Chucky to influencing the undying vampire genre with “Fright Night, Holland is continuing to scare and shock his fans to this day. With his newly formed production company DEAD RABBIT FILMS Holland is writing and directing a new 2013 series for FearNet, entitled “Tom Holland’s Twisted Tales.” Holland began his career at an early age, apprenticing at a local playhouse before entering theatre school at Northwestern University. With a strong desire to act, Holland left college and moved to New York City where he was signed to a seven-year contract with Warner Brothers under the stage name Tom Fielding. Guest starring on numerous shows, he eventually landed in the soap opera world were he had a successful career starring in “Flame in the Wind,” among other shows. In addition, a highlight of his career was playing opposite Anthony Quinn and Ingrid Bergman in the film “A Walk in the Spring Rain.” Holland began studying at the Actors Studio in Hollywood, under the tutelage of Lee Strausberg, but eventually returned to college, attending UCLA where he graduated Summa Cum Laude and Phi Beta Kappa with his law degree. Upon passing the California State Bar, a screenplay Holland had written was optioned and he again decided to jump feet first back into entertainment. Screenwriting “The Initiation of Sarah” staring Morgan Fairchild and “Class of’84”, Holland continued to write and act, guest starring on TV series like “The Incredible Hulk.” In 1982 Holland’s big break came when he wrote the sequel to Hitchcock’s “Psycho,” for which he received an Edgar Allen Poe Award nomination. Holland’s directorial debut came in 1985 with the vampire horror film “Fright Night,” a classic that was recently remade in 2011 and continues to have a cult-like following today. Holland won a Saturn Award for Best Writing and was nominated for Best Director for "Fright Night." In 1988 he co-scripted and directed the original “Child’s Play,” and again was honored with a Saturn nomination for Best Writing. He then teamed up with horror legend Stephen King and adapted two of his stories “The Langoliers” and “Thinner.” After a brief hiatus, Holland was lured back into the world of horror when he was chosen as one of the featured directors for Showtime’s “Masters of Horror” series. In 2012 he received the The Reaper Award’s LIFETIME ACHIEVMENT AWARD (The Grimmy) presented by Home Media Magazine. Holland and his wife live in Los Angeles and he is the father of actor Josh Holland.

Book preview

THE BOY

By

Tom Holland

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Tom Holland on Smashwords

The Boy

Copyright © 2013 by Tom Holland

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

THE BOY

The little girl stood on the corner, watching the dog. The sun was climbing high in the sky as early morning broke. She couldn't have been more than seven, lightly dusted skin, long dark hair hanging down. The dog stood on the opposite corner, watching her with wary brown eyes. It was a cur, about thirty pounds, with a tan short-haired coat, and a sandy stub for a tail.

It's all right, the girl said to the animal in a high-pitched voice. She had an accent that came from somewhere in Central America. I'll pet you and be nice.

The dog cocked his head, looking at her. People on the block didn't necessarily like dogs, and he'd had rocks thrown at him, but the little girl and her people had fed the animal scraps. It made him more venturesome and he put a paw forward, starting to cross the street. It was about a third of the way there when it stopped, pricking its ears. It heard the thing long before the little girl did, and what it heard was the rev of an engine winding out, the thump of base speakers, and the screech of tires. The dog knew what it was. One of those big, heavy, fast moving things that meant death if you didn't get out of the way in time. Worst, the dog knew it was speeding right toward him, faster than he could ever run, but he tried anyway, leaping forward, racing toward the opposite corner and the little girl who stood there, watching him with an open mouth.

He was almost there when the car, low and black, its sound system blaring, screeched around the corner. In that split second as it roared toward him, the small dog stretched out, trying to lengthen its stride, trying to get to the curb before the car hit him.

Whack! The car caught his hind quarters and sent him spinning down the street. He hit the curb and flopped in the gutter. He was gone, dead, life had fled. He was not aware of the deadly car speeding away, or the teenagers inside laughing wildly, or the boom of the sub woofer. He was beyond caring.

Silence settled over the street again. The only one standing there, the little girl with the dusty skin, stared at her dead dog, or at least an animal that she had liked enough to steal scraps from the family table and give to him. Tear drops formed in her eyes, about to roll down her cheeks.

She had wanted to say something, to tell the dog to stay on the corner across the street, not to cross, or cross faster, but it was too late now. She was mute before the terror of what had just happened. And then she blinked. Someone was walking toward her, down the street, hugging the curb. She squinted. The figure was hard to see, backlit by the rising sun. She caught a fringe of shaggy hair that outlined the dark, hidden face. The clothes were ragged, pants, the bottoms frayed, and a thin cotton shirt with long sleeves that were buttoned tight to narrow wrists. The figure wasn't much taller than she was.

A boy, she thought, it's a boy. A faceless boy. Then the sun shifted as he grew close and she could see his face. It was pale and finely drawn, the nose long and narrow, the lips thin and bloodless. But the most noticeable thing about him was his straw colored hair. It looked as though it had been bleached, leaving just the hint of yellow. He came to a stop before the dead dog and looked down.

He took a long moment, his chest hardly rising and falling. It made her draw her breath in. She didn't know why, but she knew she was in the presence of something -- or someone -- special. She could just feel it. There was electricity in the air. It made the split