Hyde and Shriek by David Lubar

dropping toward me. And it wasn’t only in the night; the darkness filled my mind and took me away.
    The darkness inside me lifted as I woke, leaving me wondering why I wasn’t in bed. I was somewhere hard and cold. There was dirty concrete beneath my fingers. I sat up slowly, feeling the world spin. I held very still, waiting for it to stop.
    I stood. The world spun again, but with less force. I put one hand out and touched the rough bark of the tree.
    The tree. Something dark? Something falling? I couldn’t quite remember.
    I turned toward home, unsure of what had happened. I’d passed out or fainted. No. “Guys don’t faint,” I mumbled to myself.
    Behind, I heard the scraping slap of sneakers on the sidewalk. Someone was calling a name. Someone was calling me. I turned, moving cautiously, afraid that the world would follow my motion and start to spin again.
    It was Norman. He was running toward me, one finger pushing up the glasses that were always sliding down his nose. “Splat, hey, Splat, you okay?”
    They call me Splat. It’s a long, stupid story. My name’s Sebastian. Sebastian Claypool. That name is a short, stupid story. Before I was born, Mom and Dad were listening to a lot of music written by Johann Sebastian Bach. Dad thought Johann would be a strange name for a kid. So, blam, they hang Sebastian on me. Thanks, Dad.
    It could have been worse. They also liked the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley.
    Norman reached me and stood there, taking deep breaths like a catfish dragged onto shore. Running was not a big part of his life. The night had grown chilly, and the air turned to swirls of fog as it left Norman’s nostrils. “I looked back and you were on the ground,” he said. “Did you trip?”
    â€œI don’t know.” I tried to remember. “Don’t tell anyone, but I think I passed out.”
    â€œWow, that’s bad. It could mean all kinds of things.” He pushed up his glasses again. “You should probably get a CAT scan. I wouldn’t rule out a brain tumor—though, of course, blood sugar is generally a factor in these cases, and the glucose level by itself isn’t always enough of an indicator to determine—”
    â€œNorman.” I tried to stop him. Once he got going, he was like a bus rolling down a hill. If I caught him while he was just inching along, there was hope. But after he picked up some speed and really started barreling along the Highway of Fascinating Facts, there was no way to slow him down. “Hold on. I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”
    â€œWhat’d you eat?” he asked.
    I thought back. That part of my night was clear enough. I’d had my usual popcorn—the Tub-of-Fun size that lasts about a quarter of the way through the movie. I’d washed it down with a cherry cola. Then I’d had a pack or two of caramel chews and as many of Norman’s gummy eyes as he’d let me steal. Nothing there to make a kid lose touch with the world. I told Norman the list of snacks.
    He seemed to be in deep thought. I imagined him running some kind of chemical tests in his mind, looking for a reaction between the assorted snacks. This could take all night. I just wanted to get home. “Look, thanks for coming over, but I’m fine.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    I nodded. Except for the dizziness, which had almost totally faded, I felt perfectly normal. Actually, I felt pretty good. Everything was starting to look very sharp and clear. As I nodded, I noticed a slight tingling on the left side of my neck. The skin below my jaw felt numb. I rubbed the spot.
    â€œYou probably should go to a doctor or something if it happens again.”
    â€œYes, Mother,” I kidded him. Having Norman for a friend was almost like having a third parent. I noticed that the tingling in my neck was going away.
    â€œOkay.” He started to leave, then said, “See you