Ray Kowalski belongs to Alliance Communications.  Everyone else belongs to their own mothers.

Note:  This story was my inspiration for my "Ray as a boy" stories - thank you Corrinne.  Enjoy.

Comics
By Corrinne

"Jeez, I am in so much trouble," Ray Kowalski said to himself as he peddled his bike homeward. "I'm sooo way late. Shouldn'ta stayed late at Donald's house. Mum's gonna be mad at me!"

He peddled harder, as hard as his eleven year old legs would pump. Every odd chirp from sleepy birds and scratchy hum of locusts startled him.

"I'm eleven!" he said to himself. "I'm too old to be scared by noises at night. It's just bugs, just bugs!" Still, his legs pumped harder and he wanted to get home as soon as he could.

The hum of little green rain frogs filled the night air, as did the occasional croak of a bullfrog. It was starting to mist, and Ray's t-shirt was getting damp. His legs pumped harder.

"Never again," he told himself, "Will I spend three hours at Donald's house reading ''Tales from the Crypt'' comics."

The gleam from his battery-operated headlight fell on a black cat crossing the street and Ray threw his legs into reverse, slamming on the brakes of his black Schwinn bicycle. It had been a birthday present and was the most important and valuable thing he owned. He put his right foot down on the street for balance and stopped to catch his breath.

"Darn," he thought, "I can't let every little thing scare me like that!"

When he had his breath back and his hands didn't shake, he started on his way home again. And everything that comes out at night did. Shadows flitted here and there. A dog barked. A couple of cats got into a fight and their hissing echoed along the dark streets. He could see a bat fly here and there in search of insects for their dinner. But Ray was afraid of bats. Dracula could turn himself into a bat and suck blood, and kill people.

Ray's legs pumped harder and faster. His right calf began to cramp and still he peddled his bicycle toward home. As he turned the corner onto the street where he lived, a dark shadow passed overhead and startled him. He lost his concentration and didn't see the back of the flat-black pick-up truck parked beneath the overhanging branches of a large oak tree.

Ray never really knew what happened, but a crashing sound brought Mr. Spazinski running from the house.

"You okay, boy?" he asked.

Ray was against the cab of the truck, feet in the air. His prized bicycle lay in a crumpled mass on the street, its headlight smashed into a thousand pieces.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said, his young body wracked with pain.

"Break anything?"

"I don't think so," Ray answered, every word a misery.

"I'm gonna take you home," Mr. Spazinski said, and he picked up the bicycle and put it in the back of his truck. "Goddamn! You messed this up real good, didn't you?"

Ray only grasped his ribs and thought about facing his mum.

When they got to Ray's house, Mr. Spazinski helped him out of the truck and knocked on the door.

Barbara Kowalski immediately gathered her battered son to her, lifting his face to hers. "What happened?" she asked as she saw the faint bruises beginning to show.

"It's not his fault," Mr. Spazinski said. "He couldn't see my truck and he ran into it on his bike. I'll pay to have it fixed."

"Thank you for bringing him home," Barbara said. "Don't worry about the bike."

Soaking in the tub of hot water that his mum had drawn for him Ray said to himself, "No way am I ever staying at Donald's again and read scary comics."

THE END

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