"Yes," I whispered.
"I thought you were exaggerating," Ben mumbled.
I shifted back, my body tense. "How far is the door?"
Gary lifted one leg and took a single step toward me, pausing as though he wanted to plan his angle of attack with the utmost precision.
"Ben," I prompted when the silence stretched on too long.
"Two feet behind me. Five behind you."
I slid one heel back and suppressed a wince as my shoe scraped against an acorn or rock on the wooden deck.
The spawn of Satan seemed to take that as some sort of starting shot because he sprang into action. His fat body lengthened and stretched as he bounded across the backyard, straight toward me. His lips were curled back, and I could see murder gleaming in his cold, black eyes.
"Run for your life!" I screeched, wheeling around.
Ben, who would forevermore be known as my hero, moved faster than I ever imagined he could. He flung the back door open, planted a hand between my shoulder blades as I flew past him, and shoved me into the house. My shoes skidded on the linoleum in the laundry room and I did an excellent impression of a young Tom Cruise inRisky Businessuntil I crashed into the dryer.
I heard the back door slam and twisted around in time to see Gary go splat against the glass of the storm door.
He fell back and for one sweet moment, I thought he'd done himself in. But he jumped to his feet quickly enough, chittered raccoon curses at Ben, and scampered out of sight.
Ben stared after him, his chest heaving. He looked shell-shocked. Dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Dazed even.
There was nothing but the sound of our uneven breaths for a few seconds before he turned toward me.
"How does something that fat move that fast?" he asked.
"Demonic possession?" I replied with a shrug. "Maybe some kind of toxic green ooze?"
Ben stared at me, speechless, before he clutched his stomach and laughed.
"Only you," he gasped. "Only you could make a mortal enemy of the most obese raccoon on the planet."
