Quizzically, the witch turned her head. She spit on the ground; it was an ugly yellow phlegm that sizzled like acid. “No?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“And you will never find him either.”
“Oh, but we had a deal. He is my boy now.”
“I have broken the deal.”
The witch cackled, her tongue lashing wildly with each ululation. “Did you now? Not without consequences, my dear.”
The witch reached out and touched Anna with her fingertips directly in the center of her chest. Instantly, painfully, Anna crumpled to her knees. She felt as if her insides were on fire, a ferocious, untamable blaze, her blood like burning gasoline. It started in her veins and coursed throughout her body in a matter of seconds. To her, it was the burning of her soul, and growing in its place was charred blackness. She could feel every inch of her insides being consumed by this evil. Still, through it all she stared hard at the witch, betraying her agony. “I may die, but my boy will live, and live free.”
“I have no desire to kill you just yet, but you are wrong about your boy. He is another story. He is cursed. The longer he avoids his fate, the greater he will suffer. Over time his ordeals, his trials, will eventually break him, and then he will be mine.”
The witch bent down and touched Anna again, and the pain became unbearable. Her body stiffened; her joints locked; her fingers and toes curled.
“I will find the boy,” the witch said into her ear. “Our paths are destined to cross. Make no mistake, he will be mine.” She turned to leave but looked back over her shoulder at Anna. “Let’s go. You haven’t outlived your usefulness just yet.”
Anna had no intention of going with the witch, but she discovered she had no control over her body. She moved involuntarily, following in the footsteps of the witch, unable to even voice her refusal and dissent. In her mind, she ordered her legs to stop moving; she commanded her arms to reach out and grab the witch; she wanted nothing more than to scream. But none of this happened. Her body was no longer hers. As she unwillingly tailed the witch toward the woods, she passed the shed Vincent had built for her. And the final act that was within her control was displayed in the tear that fell from her eye.
At the moment of his mother’s abduction, Vincent heard thunder. He had just reached the mountain base when he looked at the sky and saw terrible storm clouds rushing in. The wind picked up. The sun all but vanished. He had to find shelter.
Scanning the mountain, he spotted the mouth of a cave not very far up the cliff face. It would serve perfectly. With the rain beginning to fall, he began his ascent.
It was a difficult climb, what with the slick surfaces, fierce wind, and spiking rain, not to mention his lack of experience and equipment. His feet had trouble finding hold, and his fingers strained to maintain a constant grip. At one point, as he tried to pull himself higher atop the mountain, some rocks gave way, and Vincent slipped. He tumbled several feet down and crashed against the rough surface, his cheek pierced clean through by a jutting rock. And that was how Vincent came to bear the scar he was to carry for the rest of his life.
When he settled on a flat landing, he could feel the throbbing of the open wound. But the storm was nearly atop him now. He had to keep moving or the gash on his face would be only the beginning of his problems. Through the pain Vincent maintained his focus on where he was trying to go. If he didn’t make it to the cave, what his mother had done to protect him would have been for naught.
As he got closer, he couldn’t believe how large the cave’s entrance was. He was but an insect in comparison, insignificant, nothing. It made him realize how very big the world was and how utterly alone he was in it. By now, however, he was soaked from head to toe, and such troubling thoughts had to be shoved far aside. Freezing, he wanted nothing more than to be under the cave’s protective roof, a fire at his feet.
Body aching, he finally reached the massive black opening, the top of the entryway towering at least seventy feet above him. It was as if the earth had been torn open and the darkness of space were peeking through. It was pitch black and cold. He wished he had a weapon of some sort; who knew what animals made this their home?
“Hello?” he called. He waited a minute or two, heard nothing, then slowly stepped inside. It was like being swallowed by a whale.
He knew he didn’t have to venture in too deep, just enough that the rain couldn’t reach him in its windblown recklessness, but after a few steps, he noticed something, the faintest of lights coming from deep within the cave, like a distant star flickering in the night. It was so small it seemed like a pinprick, a slight puncture in the darkness. Curious, Vincent decided to walk toward it. He crept forward for what seemed like hours, the light growing but slowly. How deep was this cave?
He couldn’t see much—he walked with his arms groping the dark air before him, tracing the wall at his side—nor did he hear many sounds, just the repetition of his hesitant footsteps. As he wondered why exactly the mountain’s tremendous weight didn’t collapse atop him, he kicked a rock that tumbled and ricocheted off the wall, creating a loud echo that traveled throughout the cave.
Vincent froze. He had awoken something. He heard a peculiar sound, one he couldn’t place, growing in pitch and number. What did I do? Then something else began to stir, something very large.
“Who goes there?” a booming voice questioned, the words echoing off the towering walls of the cave, searching him out.
Vincent considered turning and running, but instead, he just stood there in the darkness, hoping not to be seen.
“Who goes there?” the voice asked again. It was a very deep and intimidating voice. “Answer me! I know someone’s there!”
“V-Vincent. My name is Vincent,” he croaked. “I was only seeking shelter. I didn’t mean to—”
“Come closer!”
Frightened, Vincent did as he was told, not realizing how much farther he actually had to walk; he could have sworn the voice came from so near.
For several minutes he walked closer and closer to the light. It wasn’t a small flicker after all. No, what guided his path was a candle that stood over ten feet tall and more than four feet around. It was like a pillar or column from some ancient structure and must have been burning for quite some time, for wax spilled all down its sides in massive white gobs. The flame, Vincent noticed, was nearly as tall as he was.
However, beyond it was something even more amazing. Illuminated in the candle’s glow was an entire home built within the cave. It looked timeworn, as if it had formed along with the mountain millions of years ago. Vincent was awestruck. The space was larger than anything he had ever seen, as if a gigantic asteroid had crashed straight through the mountain. There was a long hall that tunneled farther into the cave, eventually opening up into a wide circle with a dozen doors along the perimeter. Yet for some reason, these doors were even larger than the candle, most unnecessary and awkward for any human. Just outside this hall was a chain that must have been over a mile in length, wound up in a large pile. Off to the side was a pen. Confined in it were scores of sheep, the source of the odd noise he had heard, now unbearably loud. In the cave their sounds became something else, something otherworldly.
What is this? Vincent wondered. Who called me? “Hello?” he said, meekly, barely audible over the mad bleating of the sheep.
He was answered by the heavy footsteps heading his way. Immediately he knew why the candle was so huge, why the doors were so very big. In his haste to find shelter, he had imprudently entered the home of a giant.
CHAPTER 5
A door was kicked open with great violence, and Vince, heart jumping as if loaded onto a springboard, snapped the book closed. Two teens dressed in khakis and collared shirts stumbled out of the building and into the alley like bewildered beasts without any regard for their surroundings. They were messing around with each other in the way many teen boys do, cursing, throwing playful punches, and making jokes, many of which hit well below the
belt, as did their fists. They were loud and rambunctious and oblivious of the boy cautiously watching them beside the Dumpster, hoping not to be seen. One of them, tall and lean, with long, flowing black hair and a narrow face, finally called a time-out to the unruly activities and, exhausted, collapsed against the wall of the building, face to the sky. The other, breathing heavily, the more aggressive of the two, followed suit and pulled out a cigarette for each of them. Where the other teen was tall, this one was wide and burly and had a large stomach and a full orange beard. They were about to light their cigarettes when they finally noticed Vince huddled up beside the Dumpster.
“Hey, kid, what are you doing back here?” the tall one asked.
“You Dumpster diving? You homeless?” The wide one was hunched over and severely out of breath but still managed to get these questions out with only minimal interference from his overworked lungs.
Vince stood up as quickly as he could, shoving his grandfather’s book deep into his backpack. “Sorry. I’ll get going.”
“Now, hold on a minute, we’re not going to bust you,” the tall one said. “Are you hungry or something? We can get you some eats. Whatever’s in the break room.”
“No, I’m okay. I was just resting.”
“Back here?” The tall one didn’t seem to be buying it. He cocked his head. “Where are you supposed to be really?”
“Nowhere,” Vince answered.
“Everyone’s supposed to be somewhere,” the wide one said. “Like us. We’re supposed to be working right now.” Apparently, he found this to be very funny, although the laughter quickly gave way to more hacking and phlegm.
“School,” the tall one said, pointing a finger. “You should be in school right now, shouldn’t you?”
“No, I’m excused. I—I have to get to a funeral.”
“Oh, sorry, man. Sorry to hear it.”
“Yeah, bummer,” the wide one said. “Is it around here?”
“No, I have to get to the train station.”
“The train?” the tall one asked. “Where is this funeral?”
“Dyerville.”
“Dyerville? Way upstate? Shoot. Don’t you know a crazy storm’s heading that way? A blizzard for the ages. They’re shutting down the trains soon, little man.”
“They are?” Vince said, slipping his backpack on in a panic. “Please, how do I get there?”
The tall one pointed to his left. “Let’s see . . . What you wanna do is go two blocks this way, then, uh, make a right, and then, uh, head three blocks down. Then you take a left. Can’t miss it.”
“No, no, no,” the wide one said, shaking his head. “What’s with you? You have it all wrong. You go this way,” he said, pointing to his right. “You go this way for one block, then make a left and go for four. It’s right there on your left.”
Vince knew he should have been running by now, but he wasn’t sure which way to go. Both of them could have been right, he had no real way of knowing, and if he picked the wrong direction, he could miss the train.
“You can’t find your way to the bathroom with the lights off. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not the one who was driving to the concert downtown and ended up in another state.”
“I wasn’t paying attention. You can’t hold that against me. We were having a good time.”
Three stories up, a window slid open, and a body leaned out. With the way the sun was situated in the sky, Vince couldn’t make out the figure. It was nothing but an outline of a person.
“What are you two doing? Did I say you could take a break?” came a high-pitched voice.
“Boss!” the tall one shouted. “Boss, if you want to go to the train, don’t you go left for two blocks, then—”
“It’s right for one,” the wide one muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Will you two be quiet!” the boss screamed. “You drive me crazy. I can see the dang train station from here. You go left. Now get back inside and get to work.”
“Ha!” said the tall one, poking his friend but immediately recoiling in case of swift retaliation. As it turned out, there was only a bluff, a fake punch to the gut.
“Don’t laugh,” the boss said. “I heard you baboons from my office. You weren’t exactly correct either. You go left for only one block, not two. Then make a right and go up three. It’s right there on the left.”
“I was closer,” said the tall one.
“You can get there my way too,” said the wide one. “Just might be a little longer, I guess. The scenic route.”
“Scenic? Around here? Please. You’d get lost your way. Lost or mugged.”
They began arguing again, the boss included, but Vince didn’t hang around to hear how it all turned out, and they didn’t notice his disappearance or hear his thank-you. Not that it mattered; he had already wasted too much time. He had to make that train.
Repeating the directions over and over in his head, he ran as hard as he could, running through whatever pain and cramps and weariness he might have had. As he got closer to his destination, he could hear the train pulling into the station, and that just added even more urgency to an already pressing situation. He sprinted down another block, then another. How many minutes had it been?
Finally the train station was in sight. As he turned the corner, Vince could hear announcements being made, although he couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying. He crossed the street, a car nearly plowing right through him. It honked repeatedly, the rubber from its tires burning after the sudden stop. Vince waved a hand in apology to the fuming driver and ran up the stairs and onto the platform and nearly straight into Mrs. West.
Terrified, he stared up at the back of her head. She hadn’t seen him. A small miracle. Quickly, he ducked back behind a column, his heart beating at near-impossible speeds. This was trouble—big, huge, terrible trouble—and he was so close too. Carefully, very slowly, he peered out from behind the column. Mrs. West, arms folded, was standing there with the guard and a policeman, informing them to keep an eye out for a runaway boy. They knew he would be coming here.
Moments later there was another announcement echoing across the platform. This one he could hear clearly. Final call. The train, the last one of the day, would be leaving in one minute. There might not even be another one tomorrow. Vince had to get on. It was now or never.
He had a plan. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had. He would wait there behind the column until the very last second, until he was absolutely sure that none of them would have time to grab him when he darted past because they wouldn’t even realize what was happening. Mrs. West and her cohorts would never react quickly enough, he hoped, and he would be well past them before they did, hopping onto the train just as the doors were closing, sealing him off from their clutches for good.
But he would have to time this perfectly. He knew that much. If he went too soon, they could jump on the train with him; if he went too late, he’d miss his ride completely. How much time since the last announcement? Thirty seconds? Forty? It was going to be pure luck.
The wait seemed eternal, and with each second that passed, more and more doubt crept into his plan. He was going to have to run right past the very people looking to stop him, including a cop. Ludicrous.
Twenty seconds left, he decided.
He tightened the straps of his backpack. Ten seconds.
At five, he would begin to run.
Nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .
He crossed his fingers.
Six . . . five . . .
He took off, blowing right by Mrs. West, so close that he even felt his arm brush up against hers. She spotted him and shrieked, but she was too late. Vince was already steps from the train doors. He was going to make it. The doors started closing. Perfect. He was nearly there. Just squeeze through and wave good-bye. One more step, and that would be it.
Then . . . smack! H
e ran face-first into the closed doors.
He spun around on impact, holding his smashed nose. Not that he felt the pain. All he could think of was how he just missed the train. One second too slow.
“Let’s go, Mr. Elgin,” Mrs. West said, approaching carefully. “You have reached the end of your line.”
Vince’s head was bowed in crushing defeat. He couldn’t believe—
He heard a sound. Behind him the doors were opening. Something obstructed them.
Fingers still crossed, Vince turned around. A man had kept his hand in the doors’ path. “Getting on?” the stranger asked.
Vince jumped on, and the doors immediately closed behind him; he barely even got his backpack through in time.
Looking back through the glass, he could see Mrs. West and the others racing toward him, arms outstretched, but it was too late. The train had left the platform.
CHAPTER 6
Passengers seated in the car shot him odd looks, perhaps wondering why people were chasing after a young boy, but Vince found a row of unoccupied seats and settled in beside the window, away from these glares.
Placing his bag on the seat beside him, he kept staring out the window, waiting to see and hear police sirens chasing down the train. He kept waiting for the brakes to hit, for the doors to open, every finger pointing at him. But none of this happened. The train continued to pick up speed, and the orphanage was moving farther and farther away.
He couldn’t believe it. He’d made it. He was on his way to Dyerville. The idea of seeing his father again was suddenly an overwhelming likelihood, and he pulled out Andrew’s letter again so that he could compare handwritings. The script was impressive indeed: dramatic, elegiac, stirring. It almost defined his father in every way. He tried to think back to lunchtime in school, when he would open the brown bag that his father had filled for him and inside, along with his well-balanced meal, would be a napkin with a note, something simple yet also charming and loving, but the image in his mind was blank. He couldn’t easily recall his father’s penmanship, but in the end he figured it probably didn’t matter because even if they didn’t match up, it was most likely due to his father’s having studied calligraphy sometime in the past few years just for such occasions. He was a smart man; he had to cover his every step.
The Dyerville Tales Page 5
