“Austin?” Mattie’s voice—coming down the same corridor.
“Yes?”
“Sadie says it’s been forever since you’ve taken him to the park. He misses playing baseball. He says you and Rudy don’t go like you used to. I was thinking, after supper, that the three of you could go down and hit the ball around for a bit. You need to get out anyway. You don’t look like you’ve been getting much sleep. Why are you so tired, hon?”
His mind was a vortex of futility. The ground shattered at his feet, and Austin seemed to fall through cold, endless space.
Nothing, he thought. Too late. Nothing good can come of this. Nothing good. Ever again.
Mattie McCall was gone. Wherever she was, she’d decided to stay.
Tears came into Austin’s eyes. Tears of fury that this had happened to them, to Mattie, to Rudy, his family. His little boy was dead…
Austin did not reply. He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut, rocking Mattie while on the floor.
Hope, he thought. Pray. Don’t let go, Mattie. Hang on, baby, please. Hang on for Sadie. Hang on for us! For God’s sake, Mattie, hang on for yourself!
But yes. It was hopeless. He was too late.
You blew it, said a voice, a demon, the voice he’d heard earlier coming from—what seemed—his wife’s throat.
Austin held onto his wife and wept.
viii
Seth Auburn shook his head, unable to believe the events that had transpired over the last two weeks.
A phantom on horseback? A talking tiger beyond his backyard? It was enough to drive anyone, including little boys, insane!
He’d give anything for an explanation, an answer to the questions he had concerning Ben, but he hadn’t seen the tiger for a while now.
Seth sat on the back porch of his house in the evening on Thursday night, looking at the stars. Crickets chirped in the surrounding meadow. Dinner, several hours ago, had been Mom’s homemade spaghetti (Seth could still taste it). But he wanted to spend some time by himself. He had a lot on his mind, and sitting on the back porch alone seemed the best way to deal with it.
Summer had turned unordinary in a matter of seconds. He thought about when he’d played with the Cat Fighter Attack Plane. He didn’t feel the same as he did then. Playing with his toys seemed so childish now.
The breeze felt good, though. His thoughts were peaceful and chaotically random at the same time, a boy contemplating his place in the universe. The fantasy was real, the magic. Some kids dreamed of being Spider-Man, Batman, or perhaps Peyton Manning, but not Seth Auburn. The last two weeks had been like a fairy-tale. Denying it wouldn’t help, the reason he needed to sit on the back porch and look at the stars in the first place. Things were happening, and no matter how unreal they seemed, Ben and Sadie’s killer were very much alive, and nothing would change that.
The wind gusted, making the tall grass move in waves. The moon shed a chalky blue glow across the meadow.
Ben was the beginning of a long, endless adventure, and Seth wondered what he wanted him to do.
His mother and sister were more taciturn than usual lately as well, carefully watching over him since Sadie had been killed. When he told his mother he was going to sit on the back porch, she’d made him promise to go no farther than the yard. Seth sighed and rolled his eyes.
Would things ever be the same again?
He wanted to know more about Ben. Had God sent him? Had God sent Ben and the demon to Ellishome to battle their age-old war? What were they exactly? What linked them together? And why Ellishome? Why him?
He drove himself crazy trying to figure it out. Ben had answered him the best way he knew how, even if those answers were puzzling.
The Milky Way stretched bright and wide above. Looking up, he saw Ursa Major, pointing with his index finger at particular stars. He recognized Cepheus and Leo.
Seth had learned about the constellations in science class a year ago. He was surprised—as poor of a student as he was—that he’d remembered any of them at all.
Come with me, and do not be afraid.
The voice came from the mountains, the giant, luminous towers of rock. He saw them perfectly, despite the night, a black stone fortress, like a jagged wall against the sky.
Were they all linked somehow? He, Ben, and this phantom killer?
Seth tried to call out to Ben mentally, but got no reply.
The mountain brome moved back and forth, zigzagging with the wind. Sitting on the porch, he continued to gaze at the stars. Ben was a friend. Without the tiger, he was nothing. But with the tiger…how could he possibly fail?
Yawning, Seth thought about Monday, the first day of school. He couldn’t believe how fast summer had come and gone.
He sighed, stood up, and opened the screen door.
Let the dreamers dream their dreams, he told himself. Let them sort out their own problems.
Maybe Masie and his mother were in the mood for Spider-Man 2.
ix
Howard Colorcup had just awoken from a horrifying dream. Heart drumming, sweat plastering his neck and chest, he sat up in bed, breathing heavily.
Howard lived on Tudor Street, in a large, three-story house made of wood and stone. He was the only child of Michael and Gina Colorcup, who were currently away on one of their many business trips. They never told Howard about these trips. He was too young to understand.
“We’ll be back in several weeks,” his mother had told him. “Sorry we can’t see you off on your first day of school. Francis will take care of you.”
Francis Deveroux, his baby-sitter, was probably downstairs talking on the phone to her boyfriend, or watching television. She stayed up late, taking advantage of the Colorcups’ hospitality, along with the big house, ate most of their food, and pretty much ignored Howard altogether. For all Howard knew, Francis was probably downstairs with her boyfriend. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be last. Francis told Howard that if he ever squealed on her, she’d stab him in the armpit with a meat thermometer.
Howard hated Francis. It bothered him that he saw more of her than he did his mother and father. That seemed more than cruel. It bothered him he had to wake up alone with no one in the house to talk to besides Francis, either. Francis was no good. She told him to play with his stupid toys and to leave her alone! Couldn’t he see she was busy!
The toys were supposed to compensate for not having someone to talk to, the big screen television in his bedroom, the DVD player, the X-box, and the computer. Howard even had his own cellphone. Not that he needed one. He didn’t know anybody he could call, anyone he wanted to call, and the phone never rang anyway. Nobody had Howard’s phone number.
He always got a huge, luxurious remote control car, a train set, or a video game as a parting ‘gift’ before his parents flew across the country. They gave him an allowance of thirty-five dollars a week. Not bad for a ten-year-old boy. He wondered how handsomely they paid Francis to ignore him, eat all their food, and talk on the phone to her boyfriend. Howard, along with the gadgets, gizmos, and toys, owned a vast comic book collection as well, one of the few things he took pride in. He collected rare X-men, Spider-Man, and Fantastic Four comics. Once these movies appeared in local theaters, Howard reverted to collecting the older, more valuable comics. His weekly stipend allowed him the luxury to purchase some of his favorites, even if they were a little pricey.
Howard would play with his remote control car, a red Lamborghini he raced through the hallway, or while Francis was talking on the phone. He did it just to annoy her. Nine times out of ten, it worked. Usually, she just yelled at him. Petty satisfaction, he supposed, but it was worth it.
He’d watch cartoons on the big screen television, or play with the train-set for a few hours, but it was always empty entertainment. Francis was only fun to annoy for a few minutes at a time. It got old fast, playing with the same toys and trying to annoy Francis. What did Howard care how much the toys cost, or that he had a big television? He wishe
d he were on a plane with his folks, seeing the world as they were doing. Francis never wanted to play with him. He even asked her once:
“You want to play Madden Football, Fran?”
She was busy talking to her boyfriend. “Toys are for kids,” she’d said. “Do I look like a geeky kid to you?”
“Madden Football isn’t a toy,” he said. “It’s a game!”
Francis rolled her eyes and told him to go to his room.
Howard wasn’t thinking about Francis, his indifferent parents, or the stupid toys, however, because he’d just had one of the most terrifying dreams of his life. Monsters with long teeth and claws had been ripping and tearing his tiny arms and legs off his body.
Was that laughter in his head? Or was he imagining it?
Howard wondered if Sadie McCall had experienced something similar the night he’d been killed. Howard thought about Sadie a lot these days. He wondered if—in the dream—he was looking through Sadie’s eyes because his dream was about the death of a little boy.
Like waking from most nightmares, he was relieved to discover it was only a dream. He was still breathing heavily, however.
He reached over, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, and put them on.
The glow from the streetlamps provided a murky gloom. Howard felt a chill and shivered. The window must be open. His heart beat rapidly from the craziness of the dream, what little sense it made. It pulsed in his ears.
Someone was standing by his bed, a magician of sorts. Why else would he be wearing a top hat?
Sadie McCall was at the foot of the bed, as well, skin pale blue in the murk, his eyes wide and black. The boy was smiling, wearing a baseball mitt on one hand, holding a baseball in the other. He casually tossed the ball into his mitt and smiled at Howard with dead, black eyes.
Not a magician, he thought. The bogeyman. The bogeyman is in my bedroom.
He’d awoken from one nightmare to another. That seemed unusually cruel and unfair. Or was he still dreaming?
Kids dreamed about the bogeyman all the time. Maybe it was Francis’ boyfriend dressed in a magician’s outfit, trying to scare him. That didn’t explain the dead boy at the foot of the bed, however.
Howard knew it wasn’t a dream. The chill in the room was too cold.
He held the blanket under his eyes. The magician loomed over him, larger than before. In the murk, a pasty skull grinned down at him from under the hat.
The smell of wet earth and rain, something acidic came to life in the room as well. Blood? He wasn’t sure. The figure held its arms out, spreading its cloak across the bed. It did not speak.
Yes, this is the bogeyman, Howard thought. The bogeyman is in my room. The bogeyman is going to kill me.
Thousands of spiders dropped from the magician’s arms, showering Howard’s bed. They seemed to multiply as they fell, swarming up the blankets toward his face.
Howard screamed, kicking at the spiders, beating at the blankets with his fists, trying to get them off. But the more he slapped at the blankets, the more they came together, merging, multiplying, like curtains dangling from the creature’s arms.
Thunder boomed over the house. Spiders ran up his arms, over his neck, and around his ears! They climbed into his hair!
The phantom was not a figure made of bones. Clumps of eight-legged fiends congested its mouth. They crawled from the monster’s eyes.
Spiders massed across the bedroom. They crawled up the walls, spreading across the ceiling. The room shifted. The floor disappeared and surged like a giant, rustling wave.
Howard continued to scream. He closed his eyes and beat at the blankets! “Get them off!” he wailed. “Get them off!”
Spiders slipped between his lips, clogging his throat. He shook his head, trying to spit the fiends from his mouth.
When he opened his eyes, the spiders were gone. The magician, too. There was nothing on the walls and floor, nothing in his mouth.
Howard shivered, feeling fit for the grave. He reached over, trembling, and turned on the bedside lamp. His brow was damp with sweat, his mouth dry. The light was welcome, pushing the darkness away. Whatever it was had disappeared, but his heart was still trip-hammering, echoing in his ears. He fought the urge to cry.
Francis did not knock on the door. She hadn’t heard him screaming. Maybe she was asleep.
Howard slipped out of bed, afraid of the floor, afraid of the empty space under the bed, but he had to find the remote control.
Was that a pair of eyes, a mouth leering from the closet? What was that scurrying behind the television? The last of the spiders?
The remote was on the desk next to the computer. He grabbed it and ran back to bed, jumping onto the mattress. He clicked on the t.v., flipping through various channels until he found Cartoon Network. Scooby-Doo was the only thing on. Having all the nightmares he could tolerate for the evening, without the added ghouls and goblins, he changed the channel.
Howard scratched at his arms and legs, feeling spiders crawling all over him. In the reflection of the television screen, the bogeyman stood on the bed, leaning over his shoulder.
He turned, looking behind him, but there was nothing there.
He settled for I Love Lucy on Nickelodeon, but Howard didn’t think I Love Lucy very funny. Maybe he was too young to understand it.
He thought about going downstairs to see if Francis was awake, but traipsing through the dark hallway was enough to make him stay right here.
Resigning himself to not getting any sleep, Howard kept his cries to a whimper.
CHAPTER VIII
On the first day of school, a hint of autumn hung in the air, signaling summer’s end. The air was brisk and cool, the clouds thin, and leaves showed signs of change. The streets were wet with a light mist, but the sun had come out to warm the morning as parents dropped off their kids at school. The bike racks were full. The school bus pulled to a stop, and a stream of boys and girls from kindergarten to the sixth grade poured out. Inside, papers, pencils, books, backpacks, new clothes, and new faces appeared. Bustle and noise filled the hallways and classrooms.
Seth felt odd and alone with Kirk and Tommy gone. Not that he was concerned with making new friends. He’d never minded being alone, and since the summer, he had all the companions he could want in Masie, Jeanie, Rheanna, and Ben. His Cat Fighter Attack Plane was still in the meadow where he’d dropped it, he realized.
Another year loomed ahead, and the weight of it made Seth sigh.
A blonde girl a row up was already asking another girl when the next vacation was.
He thought about skipping school, enticing Ben from the meadow. They had a lot to talk about still. Not seeing the tiger for a while bothered him, though. If Ben needed him so badly, why wasn’t he around to instruct him further? Wouldn’t school only get in the way of the ‘things’ they had to do?
He sat in the back row of Mrs. Dunbar’s class, the morning sun shining through the windows to his left. A square shaft of light depicted filaments in the air.
Voices grew louder with talk and laughter. It was 7:52 am. Kids gathered, ambled about. One threw a paper ball.
A taller boy, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a red and blue windbreaker, sat at the desk to Seth’s left. The boy was reading a book, or pretending to. How anyone could read in this ruckus was a mystery, Seth thought. Curious, he tried to see the book’s cover. Seth wasn’t much of a reader, except for the occasional comic book.
Another boy with long dirty blond hair sat two seats in front of Seth, wearing a dark blue T-shirt. He was roughly the same build as Seth, only thinner, with unhealthy dark rings around his eyes. Was that a bruise on his neck, Seth wondered, or a birthmark? The kid looked haunted. Every time a girl walked by, the boy—pointing to the desk beside him—said, “This one isn’t taken.” Usually (it had happened no more than ten seconds ago), the girls looked at the boy, eyes widening, then hurried off to find a different seat. The boy continued to sit alone as if exuding some secret poison
. Seth felt sorry for him.
The kid next to him with glasses wasn’t reading, but watching the other kids in the classroom. He noticed Seth staring and raised his eyebrows. Seth blushed and looked away.
Maybe this year would be different. Maybe it was the boy sitting next to him or the one two rows up. He’d seen them before, had them in classes during previous years, but he’d never gotten to know them personally, maybe because of Kirk and Tommy.
Of course, it’s going to be different. That’s Ben. You remember? The phantom adversary? The thing that killed Sadie McCall? With those two, how could it not be different?
Gooseflesh rippled across his arms. Would his time in the meadow end, his world of make-believe? Would he outgrow Ben, too, he wondered?
Not now, he thought. Please. Not now, ever.
He thought about Masie telling him he was growing up too fast. This was why he didn’t get good grades. He gave more attention to his internal fantasies than what was going on outside of him.
But it was important to hold onto his dreams, something told him. Did other kids have the same thoughts? What about Masie? Would he outgrow being her little brother? What about Jeanie and the way she made him feel?
You don’t always lose what you seem to have lost.
Despite being physically absent, Ben was present mentally. Seth looked out the windows, hoping to see the tiger on the playground. Ben was in his thoughts, granting him some peace on the first day of school.
The noise reached a crescendo. Shouts and jeers came from the hallways.
“Just eight more years to go,” the boy beside him said.
Seth turned in his direction. “Huh?”
“Counting this one,” the boy explained. “Eight more years, the entire humiliating bore. Eight more years, then off to college, get a job, and you and I will be just like the rest of them.”
Seth raised his eyebrows. Had the boy read his thoughts? “I’m not going to college.”
The kid smiled and nodded. He picked up his book and started reading again, a lock of brown hair falling across his glasses.
Snapdragon Book I: My Enemy Page 15
