Pocket musings -- the first result

It's been a few years since I wrote fiction. Here, in response to the prompt I referenced in my last post, is my answer to writing about someone who is pretending to be something he is not.

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"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHgrrbblfhhhhwhaaaaaaa!" Kevin screamed as he rattled the bars of the cage and bared his teeth, only wishing that foam could seethe from between his lips. Red strobe lights flashed and thunder boomed, and fat rats poked their heads out around the feet of the girl and who Kevin presumed was her boyfriend. A mysterious moistness hung in the air -- was it from some rotting posthumous being? A brewing storm? A steaming pile of fresh sewage?

All that was missing, Kevin thought, was the proper stench.

The girl practically knocked the guy over as she jumped into his arms. It was pretty dark, but Kevin could see the guy's stiffness after he, too, jolted slightly. His girlfriend didn't notice, though, probably since he clamped his mouth shut and didn't let out a comparable, blood-curdling shriek. She also didn't realize that their weight ratios were not properly proportioned for him to take her weight.

Kevin had worked at the haunted house from the time he first remembered dressing up for Halloween. He was four, and very much against his mother's wishes he picked out a grim reaper costume. But she calmed down eventually. She figured as long as she read him some more uplifting books before bed at night, he'd turn out fine. After all, haunted houses were a family business, of sorts -- his parents and older brothers had been witches, corpses, skeletons and mad scientists for decades. When he was little, he delivered bottles of water to the haunted house workers throughout their shifts. He graduated to rat duty -- sitting behind a wall and thrusting a fake rat on a stick out a hole. And now, as a vastly matured and worldly 16-year-old, he was running one of the main scare attractions: the jailed felon. Not just a regular old felon, of course, but one painted in creepy Halloween paint -- bloodied, wasting away, abnormally gross teeth, dressed in tatters, nothing to do except shriek and scream in agony.

Kevin had become quite suited to the haunted house work over the years; he only wished the hours and the season were longer, so he didn't have to concentrate so much on the less satisfying, everyday life of the teenager going to school. In the haunted house, he was king of the spooks.

So in the haunted house, Kevin did everything he could to make himself more terrifying. By Halloween weekend, naught a person had stifled his screams when he walked by Kevin's post, much to the jailed felon's delight.

Then there was Jean Jacket Patches. Lots of people had jean jackets, but JJP had apparently hand-sewn several animal-print patches on her jacket. Kevin's encounters with the haunted house guests were brief, but he was good at giving a quick read as they turned the corner to his lair. Kevin could see a glint in JJP's eyes that was different from the other people; it was a strength gained from some experience in her life, perhaps very traumatic, perhaps very risky. Either way, he could tell this would be the ultimate test of his spook skills to even slightly startle JJP, much less melt her soul; it seemed like instead of wanting to be scared, she wanted to prove that the Halloween house horrors were no match for the fortitude she had acquired.

Thirty seconds later, Kevin walked out the back entrance of the haunted house. His eyes welled up with tears of shame as he peeled off his costume and threw it in the trash, among the greasy wrappers and styrafoam cups. He'd met his match. JJP had sensed him even before his act commenced. She had talked to him. How?! Why?! What right did she have to break the barriers within the hallowed ground of the haunted house. Did she have any idea what that blasphemy meant?! Or, Kevin thought, did nobody understand that anymore?

The champ had lost, sacrificing the proverbial belt to a new contender. A piece of Kevin hoped there was another contender out there, but the rest of him feared that nobody would ever be able to break the seemingly impenetrable shell of someone like JJP.

That night, Kevin went into the bathroom he shared with his brother and sister and brushed his teeth. After a few minutes, he loaded up his toothbrush with more paste. He brushed some more. Then he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. He pinched his lips shut, and used his tongue to push the mass of foaminess forward as he blew outward and started to open his mouth. He let out a ferocious roar. The foam settled on his lips and around his mouth, and after a few moments, deflated. Kevin silently watched it dripped down his chin.

---End---

Pluses: There is a beginning, middle and end; I incorporated some visual and descriptive elements, which is something I don't often do. Minuses: It probably lacks development -- even though it's concise, I think there could be a little more development while still not going overboard with connections and what have you. But is the foam theme too much? I wanted to be kind of clever, somehow. When is clever not to obvious, not too obtuse, but just right?

I will tell you that I originally wanted to have Kevin kill somebody who was walking through the haunted house, but I felt I would have had to develop some intense reason why he wanted to kill, like he had some major bullying problems at school. I tried to do this pretty fast and just let the ideas flow, and once I went into getting bullied it seemed really dull and it got too long.

Any comments, on anything? I think it will really help me to keep on with this, and feel free to join me if you'd like. I'll post the next prompt in a separate entry.