by Remy Wilkins
He looked up to find Jerome. Jerome was a much older rabbit. he’d been around longer than Rodney had. His hind end was black, the front white, and his head was black with a triangle of white starting between his eyes and covering his mouth. He found him at the far side of the pen, crouching in the shade. He walked around to let him have the other carrot.
“We both have black eyes, huh?” He leaned over the fence to pet him. He dropped the carrot in front of him, but Jerome didn’t even glance at it.
There was a low grunt, and Rodney looked up to see Ebenezer on his hind legs with his front paws against the fence. Ebenezer hopped back and continued to make a low grunting sound. Almost like a cough. “What’s wrong, Ben? What is it?” Without another sound Ebenezer leaped over the fence like he had wings. Rodney was stunned. The rabbit paused to look back before he bolted off into the woods. “What? Wait!” Rodney sputtered and chased after him.
He had to run to keep up with the fleeing rabbit. Every time he drew within arm’s reach, Ebenezer would torpedo ahead, pausing at the top of inclines or before thick brush almost as if he were leading Rodney somewhere. Rodney ducked under branches and swatted aside the underbrush to keep up. He whistled and called, but nothing would slow the rabbit or turn him back to the house.
Finally he lost him. The trail of bouncing bushes ended, and there was no bobbing ear to signal him. Rodney stumbled over a fallen log and fell flat on his chest. Looking up he saw Ebenezer crouched on a rock, one paw curled under him and his ears flat against his body. He was pointing with his nose like a bloodhound. He was so still that Rodney looked up to see what he was pointing at. He saw nothing.
Once he had subdued his breathing he was able to hear a strange sound, like an injured bird. He paused and realized it was coming from the direction Ebenezer was pointing. He gingerly crawled forward careful of dry twigs and underbrush. The rabbit followed him.
After crawling ten feet on his belly, the noise was louder. About seven feet away was a giant and gnarled oak tree with a black split down its side, like it had been struck by lightning long ago. Ebenezer was motionless except for his breathing. The sound was a screeching. It caused Rodney to shiver even as the sweat dripped from his forehead. He realized that it was a voice. It was screaming something.
“Hates sunshine! Hates sunshine! Hates! SUNSHINE!”
Rodney recognized that glass-scratching sound. He gathered up Ebenezer and ran back to the house, the shriek trailing behind him as he fled.
* * *
In the bathroom with his heart still motoring, Rodney splashed water on his face and picked leaves from his sticky skin and sweat-threaded hair. Perhaps he should just come out and ask Ray what was happening. He was sure Ray was involved with the strange creature.
If he was going to get out of here, he needed some way to convince his mom that he wasn’t safe. Maybe he could use his dad to get out of this situation. His dad always knew exactly what to do or say to get out of trips to Uncle Ray’s.
He stared in the mirror at himself. His eye was still puffy and purple. His hair flared out like brown fire. He slid his palms into his back pocket.
Dinner was mostly silent aside from the clinks and scratches of forks and knives on plates, pulling apart grilled chicken and stabbing through stiff, buttery green beans. Ray offered a story or two and listened to Rodney’s dry account of his trip into town. He left out the church visit, Walden, and the encounter with demons in the library.
“I met someone who knows you,” he said, settling on a safe detail to mention.
“Oh yeah? Whozat?”
“Lu-, uh,” his brow furrowed in thought. “Lu-something.”
“Lucasta?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Lucasta, Lucy, Lu-lu,” chanted Ray, running through his nicknames. “She’s an angel. She’s the one with the dog, you know.”
“Oh, the one that bit me? Hm, she didn’t mention that.”
“If your dog scars some kid for life, do you mention it every time you see the kid again?”
“I’m not scarred for life, Ray.”
Ray chuckled and groomed his beard with a couple of firm strokes from his large hand.
“Forgot to swing by the drugstore. Too hot and I just wanted to get home.”
Ray slumped in his chair. “No Superman? Ack, and I just finished my Mars novels. What will I do?”
“Sorry for ruining your night,” Rodney said with a slight grin.
Ray bolted upright. “Hey, I got an idea, let’s look at Mars tonight.”
“How?”
“A telescope, nitwit, up in my observatory. You remember.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you could see Mars with it.”
Ray’s eyes seemed filled with the night’s own starlight. He grinned and leaned forward, “You wouldn’t believe what you can see.”
Growing up, Rodney had not been allowed in the top room of the Corleonis. He used to imagine all sorts of secrets and treasures up there.
It had long been a joke to his dad, this room with windows for looking at the stars. His father was a practical man; he managed a warehouse of building materials. He was a man of stacks and numbers, of lifting and grunting and carrying things around. He had little interest in people who stared off into space, looking at distant points of light. His father had so ridiculed the idea that, once Rodney was old enough (and brave enough) to ascend the stairs and use the telescope, he had no desire to do so.
Rodney ascended the stairs to the upper room. The top of the spiral staircase went right up to the wood ceiling. With a humph, Ray pushed up the trapdoor to the observatory and climbed in. Rodney followed and let the door slam shut behind him. There was some fumbling before Ray found the light and clicked it on. The room was hexagonal, as all of the rooms in the honeycomb house were, but smaller than the rooms downstairs. In the center was the fat-tubed telescope on a long-legged tripod. The roof had three large triangular windows that were roughly facing east, west, and north.
The only other things in the room were a stocky wood chair next to a table and a threadbare couch leaking its stuffing. On the table was the source of light—a lamp with a tasseled shade—and a yellow legal pad, deeply penciled with numbers and swirls and hastily written notes.
“Well, here it is,” Ray said, slapping his thighs. “My fortress of solitude.” Rodney fell back onto the couch as Ray went on to point out the features of the telescope. He launched into how it worked and the history of its development and would have gone on except that he noticed the mechanical regularity of Rodney’s headnods and “uh-huhs” and realized he had lost his audience.
“Sorry, floppy-top, I get lost in my own head sometimes. Let’s look at some stars.” He flipped the light off. “Normally I wouldn’t turn on the light. It ruins your nightvision, but I wanted you to get your bearings.”
“And show off your shiny toy.”
He could hear the bristling of Ray’s beard as a slow smile spread across his face. “You know me.”
They sat in the dark waiting for their eyes adjust to the darkness. The room shifted from black to silver as the moonlight seemed to wake up and do its job. “So what’d you name your telescope?”
Ray snorted, coughed, and chuckled. “Ah, you know me too well, Rod. Of course I named it. This here is Giacomo; that’s Italian for Jacob.”
“Why Jacob?”
“Don’t you know your ancient Jewish astronomers?” he said in mock offense.
“Jewish Astronomer 101 is next year.”
“Oh, well, here’s a preview. One time ole Jake was relaxing under the night sky when he saw a vision of angels ascending and descending a ladder.”
“Why would angels come down here?”
Ray stood and began adjusting the telescope. “Oh, you know, keeping an eye on things. Can’t have people stirring up trouble.” He aimed the t
ubby barrel out the easterly window. “Come here and have a peek.”
The night sky was a deep and near endless yawn. Staring up at it made Rodney feel weightless, like he could be sucked into the heavens at any moment. He waved the telescope across the white dots of stars. “Wow,” he said, lost amongst the million pinpricks of light. “There’s so much of it.”
“Got that right, kid.” Ray centered the telescope. “Okay, do you know where the Big Dipper is?”
“Yeah, I know that one.” Rodney hunched down to peer into the eyepiece. After five or six minutes of wild scanning and two more of micro adjustments Rodney announced, “Got it. I think.”
The silently exasperated Ray bent down to check. “Good,” he said. “Now go to the bowl of the dipper and jump off the edge till you see a bright star. That’s going to be Polaris, the pole star. It’s a star that moves very little night to night.”
Rodney followed the directions. “Okay. Is that the Little Dipper?”
“That’s right. It’s also known as Ursa Minor.”
“Is that Italian?”
“Latin for Little Bear.”
“Weird.”
“It was also known as Draco’s wing. Some cultures thought of it as a tree that the dragon sat in.”
“Where’s Draco?”
“Um, below Ursa Minor, kind of looped underneath like my driveway.” He scribbled a dipper on the pad of paper and drew a line humped under it.
“Ha, that is like your driveway. Did you do that on purpose so that it looked like Draco?”
“No, the workers making my driveway didn’t want to go over the hill. Said it’d be easier to go around it. That was the easiest place to build a bridge over Second River.” Ray took a place on the couch and put his feet up.
“So why is there a dragon in the sky?”
“The question is why aren’t there more dragons in the sky. It’s hard to see lions and archers in the stars, but snakes and dragons and scorpions are easy. You’d think the ancient astronomers would see more.”
“There’s a scorpion in the sky?”
“Oh yeah, it’s really cool. It has a red star in it. Let’s see,” he jumped up and took over, twirling the knobs. “Ah, take a look.”
Rodney pinched an eye shut and peered into the telescope. He couldn’t make out a scorpion, but one star did have a rusty hue to it.
“Above the scorpion is a dude named Ophiuchus. That means snake-bearer. Cool, huh?”
“What’s he doing, holding a snake?”
“Well, uh, he’s squashing the scorpion. Scorpions always get stepped on. One way or another, they die under a boot.” Ray seemed to be talking about something else.
Rodney sat up and looked at Ray. “Do you believe in monsters?”
Ray put a shoulder against the wall. “Yes. Especially the human kind.”
“My dad says there aren’t any monsters, but I never believed him.”
“Well, there’s the stone serpent.”
“And the Warrior of Light,” Rodney added.
“Seems to be a warrior for every monster.”
There was a silence and from the first floor a whistle rose up. It was a high-pitched squeal that made Rodney’s neck muscles tighten.
“Is that . . . ?” Rodney paused listening to his heart beat.
Ray squinted as he concentrated. “That’s the tea kettle. Fibditch again. I’m gonna go turn that off.” Ray threw back the trapdoor and stomped down the spiral stairs.
Rodney was left in the room with the warm light from the second floor mingling with the cool starlight. Fibditch, he thought, that’s twice he’s heard Ray say that. Was it a name? But what kind of name is Fibditch?
The shadows made the room wonky, and Rodney noticed for the first time carvings on the walls. Each room had a theme so he leaned closer to see what Ray had carved in this one. He followed a long looping tail to a crouched lion. Next to that one was another seated and upright like a noble king. Lions. Ray’s name for the house, Corleonis, the heart of the lion, made more sense now.
He flipped on the small lamp and surveyed the rest of the room. He jumped back when he saw the gnarled face of a lion roaring across from him. The mouth was impossibly wide and its teeth like thin daggers. It was so realistic that he could almost hear its roar.
Suddenly the trapdoor closed, snapping shut with a loud wooden thwack. The noise so frightened Rodney that his leap knocked the lamp from the table. It hit the floor with a crack and died. Rodney was in complete darkness.
He fell to his knees searching for the handle of the trapdoor. He thought of the angry lion behind him and scratched the wood floor frantically. His fingers caught the edge of the door as he felt a hot breath of air moisten his neck. He screamed, pulled the door open, and launched himself between the crease.
He fell forward, sliding headfirst down the stairs, cracking his shoulder against the balusters which held the rail. He flipped, rolled and rotated, landed on his feet, and pushed off again; falling, flailing, and clamoring to the second floor. His ankle turned, and he came crashing to a stop on the landing. His heart roared in his ears and he spun to see if there was any pursuit down the stairs, but there was none. His whole leg throbbed with pain from the turned ankle.
Either something was tormenting him, or he was a bigger chicken than he thought. This would have to stop. He resolved to do something, to confront whatever it was. He hobbled into his room and set his alarm clock for early morning. He’d bring his bat.
Chapter Seven
THIS WORLD WITH DEVILS FILLED
Rodney sat bolt upright at the cawing of the alarm clock. He slapped it silent and brushed back his hair. It was five a.m., and he had to steady himself before standing. The room was dark, for the earth had not yet rotated itself into dawn. He tugged on a shirt, slapped on his cap, and felt along the floor for his pants. After pulling his shoes on and grabbing Libra, he quietly went downstairs.
He unlocked the front door and cracked it open. There was a coolness to the predawn dark that he never expected. He jumped off the porch and crouched against the house behind one of the big clay jars that sat on either side of the steps. He rested the bat over his shoulder and searched the yard.
The dew had already settled across the lawn, and he realized how soggy his shoes were. He felt silly and tired, and tried to shake the sleep from his eyes. He had no idea when the sun would rise, but he knew it would be sometime after five.
He didn’t have a plan. Ray said demons were subject to the Name, and he thought the voice that awoke him yesterday might be this demon. So the creature seemed to obey when he commanded it to shout out a love of sunshine each morning. If it happened again he’d be ready.
He stared ahead into the darkness, squinting at any movement of the trees. His head bobbed. He felt more comfortable resting his chin on his knees. He leaned against the house. Sleep crept upon him once more.
* * *
“ . . . Birthless loves sunshine! Birthless loves sunshine!”
Rodney jolted back and slammed his head against the house. Rubbing it, he sat up to see a small, black, mostly furry creature spinning in a tight circle like a pinwheel and screaming. The creature wasn’t much more than two feet tall, with a pointy, batlike face. He had a hairy back, forearms, and feet, and he hobbled from side to side when he ran.
The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon. Rodney’s body ached and his backside was wet from sitting in the grass. He watched the demon cry out in his raspy voice his love of sunshine. When he fell over, the creature held his stomach and laughed. It was a horrible strangled sound.
The creature seemed different. Changed. It rolled over with a mirthful sigh and sprinted off toward the tree line. With a few leaps, twirls, and one crisp cartwheel, he disappeared into the woods. Rodney rose from his hiding place. He put a hand to his head, massaging the growing ache. His
stomach churned with anxiety and hunger. He decided that he should track down this creature. Perhaps the rabbit Ebenezer could help again. He rushed back inside.
Ray bumped cabinet doors and plates in breakfast preparation while humming some triumphal marching tune. Rodney ran up to snag his backpack, since he’d have to sneak Ebenezer into the woods without Ray noticing. He looked at his bat and decided to keep it with him for protection. Once ready he returned downstairs and walked into the kitchen.
Ray turned and let his smile break through his beard. “Rodnacious, I have made morning sandwiches.” He waved his hand over the food with a flourish.
“What’s that?”
Ray turned to grab two dishes behind him and showed Rodney his creation. “Behold the glory.” On the plates were biscuits intersected with ham and a pale cheese sagging under heat. He placed the dishes on the island between them and reached a ladle into a steaming pot on the stove.
He stirred a thick white porridge. “Gravy, gravy, gravy. Mmm! Baby, baby, baby,” and he ladled out a scoop onto the head of the biscuit. The gravy ran down like a lava flow. He looked up and asked, “Want some on yours?”
“Sure.”
Ray buried the other biscuit in a lumpy pool. He snagged two forks and knives from a drawer and, handing him a pair, said, “Dig in. Literally, dig in.”
They both excavated bites, cutting through the sandwich with the knives and forking the gravy-laden portions gingerly to their mouths. There was a tinge of sweetness to the gravy that cut the saltiness of the ham. Rodney chewed vigorously.
“Got a heap of work to do today,” Ray said between chews.
“Thought I’d bike back into town. Pick up your comic books. Maybe get a couple for me to read.”
Ray perked up. “Oh, okay. Don’t let Mr. Edison talk you into that Batman trash. Get something that goes into space. Trust me.” His beard was flecked full of fallen gravy.
