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Back Destroy All Monsters Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty-One
  55. Fifty-Two
  56. Fifty-Three
  57. Fifty-Four
  58. Fifty-Five
  59. Fifty-Six
  60. Fifty-Seven
  61. Fifty-Eight
  62. Fifty-Nine
  63. Sixty
  64. Sixty-One
  65. Sixty-Two
  66. Sixty-Three
  67. Sixty-Four
  68. Sixty-Five
  69. Sixty-Six
  70. Sixty-Seven
  71. Sixty-Eight
  72. Sixty-Nine
  73. Seventy
  74. Acknowledgments
  75. About the Author
  76. Praise for Destroy All Monsters
  77. Books by Sam J. Miller
  78. Back Ad
  79. About the Publisher

“Keep trying, will you?” I said. “He’s a kid, just like us. And he’s in danger. Your dad’s a grown-up. Vice principal. Football coach. Pillar of the community. Everybody loves and respects him. If he can help Solomon, he should.”

“I know,” Connor said, and kissed the back of my neck again. I reached back, and he took my hand. We spent an hour like that, not talking, not moving. Time with Connor was like meditation. It cleared my head, calmed me down.

I didn’t sleep long in Connor’s arms, but I did sleep deep. Plunging from dream to dream to memory to fantasy, until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began, or where the real world was in relation to all that.

A floating restaurant. A mammoth tusk.

A boy who could summon up birds made of fire.

And then—something else, something so sharp and real I knew it had to be a memory.

Deep inside me, a door had been unlocked.

Connor’s house, the same place I was presently sleeping, except back then I thought of it as Solomon’s stepfather’s house, and Connor was just this scrawny short kid who idolized his stepbrother.

The house is bigger, now, because I am smaller. Dark polished wood floors. Framed photographs of faraway cities and strangers in black and white. A basement big enough to hold all the monsters in my imagination.

Solomon and I are exploring. We’re eleven, maybe twelve. His mother and stepfather are at Connor’s Little League game. I wonder why they don’t take Solomon to watch those anymore. He’s big for his age, and strong, but he has absolutely no interest in sports.

He takes us out back. The treehouse his stepfather built for Connor. We climb up.

“This is my favorite place in the whole Palace,” he says. “Sixty stories high. It’s where the war pterodactyls launch from.”

The thing I love most about Solomon is his imagination. How he sees the world. How full of wonder it is.

“Do I have magic?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says solemnly. “But some magic doesn’t manifest until later. Whatever it is, it’ll be incredible.”

I wonder what video game or fantasy novel he got all this out of.

“Take my picture,” he says.

I raise the camera. It’s cheap and digital. This is long before the Leica.

Through the lens, he looks like a normal boy. Wearing a shirt that is maybe a tiny bit too small for him.

Solomon smiles. I push the button. The camera clicks.

Twelve

Solomon

A camera clicked.

I opened my eyes to total darkness. My arms and legs were still tingling.

I had been plunging from dream to dream to memory to fantasy, until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began, or where the real world was in relation to all that.