The Eyes of Kid Midas by Neal Shusterman Page B

everything else out of his aching head. He knew where they were, so close, sitting there in his shirt pocket, hung on the back of his desk chair.
    It wouldn't hurt just to look at them, thought Kevin, and so he heaved his cold, shaking body out of bed, took the glasses from his shirt, and set them open on his desk.
    About a foot away from the wall outlet.
    The glasses had already drained the heat from the room, but it wasn't enough. They sat there spent and powerless, just like Kevin, in a room that had become as cold as winter. Now the blade of the lenses was a dull, foggy gray, like cheap plastic that had been washed too many times.
    In a moment, an arc of blue electricity bridged the cold air between the glasses and the outlet. It looked like one of those mad scientific devices in old monster movies.
    Kevin slipped under his blankets and watched. It wouldn't hurt to let the glasses charge up just a little, he thought. Only they didn't charge just a little, they charged a lot. For half an hour Kevin watched and listened to the gently crackling electrical hum while everyone else slept.
    Soon the glasses looked perfect again. The smooth visor blade was sharp and shiny—as perfect and pure as a diamond. They sat there, waiting patiently for Kevin.
    Now Kevin longed more than ever to have the cold and the emptiness he felt chased away by the glasses.
    If I wore them for just a second, it couldn't hurt, he thought. Could he bear that? Wearing them for just a second? Of course he could. Then he could put them back in his shirt pocket. That's what he'd do.
    He reached out, crooked his finger, and grabbed the glasses, just as he had the first time, when he had seen them on the mountain. He slipped them on his face.
    Instantly the icy night rolled over into a thick, warm quilt for Kevin to wrap himself in, protecting him from anything hidden in the shadows.
    He stretched and let the warmth relay- down his spinal column until it pulsed in his fingers and toes.
    How good it was to feel so warm, so safe, and so comfortable. How could he ever want to feel differently?
    Still wearing the glasses, Kevin felt sleep begin to pull him down with caressing hands. He gave no resistance.
    Kevin opened his eyes some time later, deep into the night, hearing the distant sound of metal against metal. A rattling sound. A tilt of the head told him that the sound came from the left side of his room—more specifically, his closet.
    Kevin sat up and walked what seemed to be twice the usual distance, noticing the sickly-sweet aroma of overripe fruit. Pushed by curiosity, he reached for the 'knob and turned it. The door creaked open to reveal a place that bore no resemblance to Kevin's closet. And Bertram was there.
    Bertram was in the same clothes he wore the moment he was sucked out of the world, only now they were drenched in sweat.
    Yes. Now I remember what he looked like was the first thought that flashed in Kevin's mind. Then the shock and horror followed it in, like thunder.
    Bertram lunged at Kevin in fury, only to be choked back by the chains. Heavy black chains circled his legs, arms, and neck, rattling like iron bones. They were fastened securely to a jagged wall of steaming, black, shiny stone, which had replaced the walls of Kevin's closet. The glass-like obsidian shimmered, reflecting fires unseen.
    It was exactly what Kevin imagined Hell to be like.
    Except for the fish.
    Bertram's Hell had fish everywhere. They flopped at his feet, they slithered down the wall and into his shirt. And they all smelled like used fruity bubble gum. It must have been-Bertram's worst nightmare.
    "You're dead, Midas!" screamed Bertram. "You're dead when I catch you! You're gonna pay!"
    And then Bertram's face changed. He wasn't a grimacing demon anymore, but a terrified thirteen- year-old boy.
    "Please," he whispered desperately, "please, Kevin, help me. I'm scared . . . pleeeeeease . . ."
    "I'm sorry!" cried Kevin. "I didn't mean it! I didn't even know there