Hourglass
by Pauline C. Harris
Published by
Fire and Ice
A Young Adult Imprint of Melange Books, LLC
White Bear Lake, MN 55110
www.fireandiceya.com
Hourglass, Copyright 2015 Pauline C. Harris
ISBN: 978-1-68046-051-3
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States of America.
Cover Design by Caroline Andrus
For Alex and Tracy
HOURGLASS
by Pauline C. Harris
Jude Sprocket has been a pirate her whole life. Taken in by a man who found her alone on a distant planet at the age of seven, all she has to remember of her past life is the loss her hand – the vague memory of a race through the woods and a bloody aftermath.
Now, her father recently dead, seventeen-year old Jude has inherited his spaceship – Hourglass. Determined to get off Earth and continue her father’s legacy of piracy, she assembles a crew and takes to the stars.
But more than abandoned ships and hidden treasure await Jude in the vast void of space. She’s haunted by dreams of a distant land, children hiding in the shadows, and a little girl she somehow feels the need to find.
When Jude and her crew stumble across an uncharted planet, curiosity gets the better of them and they land, unaware of the dangers that wait. Suddenly, Jude’s worst nightmares are coming true. The monsters she feared in the dark, the children that haunt her mind, the little girl from her dreams – and the planet she was never meant to leave.
Table of Contents
"Hourglass"
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Previews
For Dad,
For answering all my questions about spaceships and interplanetary travel. Hourglass would suck without our long conversations about spacecraft mechanics.
Spaceships and Stars
“Second star to the right,
and straight on ‘till morning”
- J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Chapter One
The monsters hide in the dark. In the spaces between trees, between boughs, and under the water. In the spaces between fantasy and reality, the monsters hide in the dimmest corners of my mind. I know this as I run through the thick woods, the dark enveloping me from every side, my imagination taking flight and filling my mind with images and scenarios too horrible to dwell on. So I run faster, as if I can outrun them.
He used to tell us stories. Tell us of the monstrosities, the evil and malicious things that made up the spaces your eyes couldn’t see. How the dark not only hid but created the monsters, how the dark was the most evil thing we could ever know. And yet the dark was his playground.
I race through the trees, faster this time, although I have no idea where I’m going. Where can I go? It’s too dark, too thick, too small—there’s nowhere I can go. I fumble through the dark, wishing my eyes to see something, anything, and yet there’s barely a moon outside, no light at all, nothing to see. But then my foot catches on something—a root, a rock, a log—and I skid to the ground, my palms stinging as they scrape against the rough underbrush. I cry out but then clamp my teeth together so hard they hurt, bringing a hand to my mouth. He’s here. I know he’s here. I scramble to my feet, trying not to make a sound, not to step too loudly, not to breathe. I patter across the uneven ground, my bare feet aching as they brush across rocks and thorns and brambles.
And then something grabs my foot and I scream, all the ghoulish images of his monsters appearing in my head. Their hideous faces, their claws, fangs, hunger for blood. I’m still screaming, every muscle alive with frantic terror and adrenaline as I claw at whatever has its hand grasped around my ankle. My fingernails dig into something soft, smooth—skin—and I hear a noise—somewhere between a moan and a word, and I realize that it’s no monster, but it’s him. He’s here, he’s found me. My veins light on fire as I yank my ankle free and scuffle through the dirt before getting to my feet. I dart through the woods, my breathing too loud to tell whether he’s behind me or not, so I keep going. Finally my lungs feel like they’re going to give out, so I slide to a stop, clinging to the tree nearest me, leaning back and sinking to the ground. I try to slow my breathing, straining my ears for any hint of movement.
And then I hear it. He’s calling my name. He says it in such an awful way. It drips with syrup, the kind that’s too sweet, the kind that kills. I don’t hear his footsteps. He’s too quiet, he always has been. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the urge to whimper. I feel it gurgling up my throat, so I smack my hand to my mouth, trying with all my might to hold it inside me.
“Jude,” he whispers and I feel his breath brush against my ear. I shriek and dodge away, but I don’t have time, I don’t have time. I see a light flash out of the corner of my eye, something bright and glorious, something that stirs hope fluttering through my chest like a breath of air in a room without oxygen. But I can’t quite remember what it is...I’m hoping for. He sees it too, the light shining, coming close, almost reaching him and I can hear the tone of his voice changing, I can imagine the curl of his lip, the darkening in his eyes. “You don’t get away that easily,” he snarls, reaching for me, any part of me. I swirl away, dodging his grasp. But there’s something else. Something sharp, something I don’t recognize before it’s too late. He swings blindly at me, fury coiling around his every movement and suddenly I feel pain. Pain so fresh, so strong, so blinding. The air is knocked out of my lungs. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can barely register anything as warm blood coats my arm and my torso.
My hand falls to the ground. And I scream. The covers around me are warm and sticky and it takes me frantically long seconds to realize its sweat and not blood coating my bed sheets. My chest heaves, my heart beating like a ticking time bomb, faster and faster. I pull both of my hands out from under the blankets and hold them up in front of me in the dim lighting. Both there, only one of them is real—pulsing with blood and living flesh. I stare down at my prosthetic hand, black and matte. I still don’t remember what happened to the real one. I just have vague dreams of something horrible, something I expel from my mind every time it tries to worm its way back in. Even my parents don’t remember. Or...didn’t.
Suddenly I feel like I can’t breathe and I jump from the bed, the cold air hitting me like a wave of ice. I run across the room, flicking the lights on. I go from wall to wall, to the bathroom, to the entryway of my small hotel room, until every light is turned on, glaring brightness into the tiny room. I cradle my hand—the fake one—against my chest, closing my eyes and biting my lip. Dad always told me it must have been an accident. That I must have fallen, or that something had smashed it. I wish he was here now.
I crawl back into bed, pulling the covers up over me. I stare at the light on my bedside table. Dad used to sleep
in the bed across the room from me. He snored, but I never minded. The ship we lived in was so small that families only got one room each. And he used to leave the lights on even though I know it bothered him. I wonder at how he got any sleep at all. At least one light would always be burning throughout the night—a light I could see if I ever woke up. Lights everywhere, in every hallway of the ship.
Because he knew I had always been afraid of the dark.
Chapter Two
I remember how he used to call me Judy. Dad. He was the only one I would let call me that. Other than Mom, but she’s been gone awhile now. It’s weird to think that I only knew her for a few years.
“Look Judy,” Dad would say to me on more than one occasion as we stared out of the glass hub at the front of his ship. “There’s nothing better than the stars.” They would glisten through the window and I’d press my hand up against the cool glass, knowing that they held mysteries and adventures. That each star had a story to tell, a world to give. And that we were so close in our lovely little spaceship.
I loved Dad’s ship. Every square inch of it. I remember being a little girl and running all around, finding all the crevices and places to hide. Mom always said it was dangerous, but Dad told her not to worry—I was just being a kid.
I vaguely remember the first time I saw him, or anything else before that, for that matter. It’s like my life started when Dad landed his spaceship on some planet and found seven-year-old me alone, covered in blood, my hand gone. He was on one of his escapades that he so frequently makes, going down to random planets to investigate. I’d seen the flash of his spaceship landing, the light seeping through the darkened trees and although I can’t quite remember what I was running away from, I kept going. A nightmare later, running and scrambling, my mind on fire, and suddenly without a hand, I stumbled into the clearing, right into Dad’s arms. I’ve never been sure why he took me in. I suppose a bloody, handless, shaking child is nothing if not compassion-evoking, because he took one look at me and ushered me onto the ship.
And that was when my life began. I was fixed up and given a prosthetic hand back on Earth, but when I’d ask Dad what the planet was he’d found me on, he could never remember. He’d furrow his eyebrows and get that look in his eyes—the one where you’re shocked and almost angry because you can’t remember something so basic, so obvious. We eventually accepted the fact that we’d never really know where I’d come from. And that was okay. Because Mom and Dad, the spaceship and the stars, were enough for me.
For a while.
Growing up on a ship in the middle of space, instead of on Earth or any other planet, it took me years to realize that my parents’ profession was considered illegal. “Pirates” is what the officials back on Earth called them. Although I wouldn’t call them the traditional type of pirate. It’s not like they were doing anything wrong. Hijacking ships with crewmembers and stealing them blind would have been a bit nasty, I’ll admit, but that wasn’t what we were doing at all. It was the abandoned ships, the crewless hunks of metal that so frequently littered the vast void of nothing between planets and stars. No one was using them, no one really wanted them. So we took their parts and sold them for whatever we could get. But apparently Earth declares that they own all unclaimed spacecraft and that “pirates” like us are breaking a million laws by even taking a floating scrap of hull.
So, needless to say, I didn’t spend a whole lot of time on Earth. I can count the times I’ve been there on both of my hands. Eight. Only this time, I’m here alone.
Suddenly I hear a rap on the door and I hurry across the room to squint through the peephole. A girl my age with long brown hair, blue eyes and freckles stands outside my door, chewing her lip. I smile and unlatch the bolt, letting her into the room.
“Hi Jude,” she says in greeting and although she’s smiling, her eyes are sad, searching mine for any sign of sorrow. It’s only been a few weeks since Dad passed away. I smile at her, trying to show that I’m fine.
“You want coffee?” I ask, gesturing to the kitchenette a few feet away. I made some about ten minutes ago, knowing she would stop by. She’s staying with her family a few miles away. She nods and walks over to pour herself a cup. Sylvia has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Or, more accurately, my only friend. She was the only kid aboard Dad’s ship—the daughter of one of the crewmembers—before I came on. We were instant friends. She’s one of those people who gets along with everyone, but after a while you begin to read who she truly likes and who she doesn’t. She’s always got a smile plastered on her face, but I’ve gotten to the point where I know what she’s thinking without even having to ask a question. Our whole lives have been together. We spent our childhood peeking out of windows, counting stars, and dreaming up magical worlds for each speck of light on the canvas of black.
It’s so weird to think that that life is over. That life of blissful carefreeness where we had the luxury of doing nothing but dreaming all day. The realization comes as a shock to me, just like it has every day for the past two weeks. Dad’s gone. And all our worlds have been rocked because of it. My childhood has been stolen.
I have no one else. No one but Sylvia.
And then there’s Hourglass. That beautiful hunk of metal stationed down at the port. Small, but big enough for me, and the most glorious flying machine I’ve ever laid eyes on. Something flutters in my chest knowing that it belongs to me. Me. She’s all mine. But then those butterflies are shot and fall dead to the floor when I remember why. Because Dad’s not alive anymore and he willed his ship to me. It hurts more than I can bear—those dead butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
“Jude?” The voice pulls me from my tortured thoughts and I turn toward Sylvia. “I asked what you’re going to do,” she says softly. “Now that...” she trails off, staring down into her Styrofoam coffee cup, her lips pursed.
I ignore the aching screams building inside of me and harden my expression. “Well for starters, I’m getting off this rock.” I walk over to pour myself some coffee, wincing as my mechanical hand jerks too quickly and it splatters hot liquid across my arm.
“With what? You don’t have a crew.” Sylvia asks gently.
I clench my teeth. She’s right. Dad’s crew had been dwindling the last few years and now...now they’re all dispersed, off to new adventures. There’s just me and Hourglass left. “I’ll find a crew,” I declare, but wince the moment I say it, knowing how naïve I sound.
“Jude...”
“I know, okay?” I snap, surprised at how harsh my voice comes out. “But I can’t stay here. You of all people should understand that. I hate planets, I hate Earth.” My hands are shaking so I put my coffee cup down and lean against the counter. “I just need to leave,” I say, softer this time.
Sylvia is quiet for a long moment. “I guess I can see you doing it,” she eventually says. I can hear the smile in her voice. “Finding some crazy people to man that tiny ship.”
I laugh, despite how angry I still feel. “It’ll work,” I say.
Still smiling, Sylvia asks, “but who will take orders from a seventeen-year-old captain?” She gives me a look, knowing I’d never let anyone take control of Hourglass even if our lives depended on it.
“Seventeen-year-olds,” I answer matter-of-factly.
Her eyes narrow, but a smile plays on her lips. “You’ve thought this through already,” she states.
I nod, taking a sip of coffee. I’d thought it through the day after Dad died. The day I knew my life would seriously have to change—the day my denial ran out.
“What did you do?” she suddenly asks, putting her coffee down.
I smile smugly and turn towards the door, grabbing a set of keys and a bag as Sylvia follows me.
“Seriously, Jude,” she whines as we make our way down the hallway and out of the hotel. We wander outside onto the busy street and down the sidewalk, making our way past old rundown cars and buildings. It’s an older side of a town that’s pretty old
all by itself, the place with the hangar where Dad would always dock his ship. It wasn’t all that high tech and no one bothered checking up on it. The hotel is only a few blocks away, and that’s where we’re headed.
“Nothing drastic, please,” Sylvia pleads. “Sometimes I don’t trust you, you know?” She smacks my arm teasingly. I ignore her, enjoying every minute of her confusion. She must know this because she sends me a mock glare.
Three crosswalks, and one car dodging later, we arrive at the hangar and I let myself in with Dad’s old key card. The tall metal gates groan open and I pry my way through into the vast expanse of ships. I spot Hourglass right away and head over. I only remember Dad docking her here once or twice and that was when we were destined to stay on Earth for a while. Usually she’d just be in orbit. But since Dad’s death, Hourglass has been sentenced here. The crew all left and I’m the only one who cares anymore.
I type in a six digit code on Hourglass’s keypad—a technology so archaic, Dad’s crew used to tease him about it—and the hatch unlatches and drops down like a castle drawbridge. I gesture my hands flippantly through the air and bow, while Sylvia curtsies back and darts up the ramp, laughing.
I follow her up and make my way through the cargo bay, down the hallway and to the cockpit. I look around and sit down in the captain’s chair, leaning back and putting my hands on the chair’s arms. This was where Dad used to sit and almost every day these last two weeks I’ve come here, sat in his chair, and stared out the glass dome window. Only I’m disappointed to find pavement and wire fences instead of soft blackness littered with stars.
Hourglass Page 1
