Michael Chabon has a short story over on Tablet; in it, he negotiates the acquaintance of a boy and his crippled neighbor:

There was no menace or queerness in his manner, none at all. Mischief, yes. And the illicit sharing of a trust. I wondered if he were keeping some interesting animal, a snake, say. Vaguely I hoped he might be about to set something on fire. Perhaps he was going to show me his ruined legs, though I couldn’t imagine why he would need to drown that out. Perhaps what I would see when he rolled up his trouser legs would cause me to scream in horror.