by Kaleb Nation
Helping Sewey with his paperwork was a constant, nagging reminder of the Accident, of the whispers Bran often overheard when Sewey called him to the bank for one chore or another: "There we were, all closed up, the vault locked tight, the next day Sewey gets here early and checks the vault like always… and there he is. A six-year-old boy. Just sitting there in the middle of the floor. Nothing stolen, nothing even moved. And the worst part is the Finders Keepers Law regarding Orphans. That’s why Sewey calls it the Accident. According to the Laws of Dunce, because Sewey found the boy, Bran is his ‘forever or until the End of Time, whichever comes later…’"
The strangest part always came after. "And the note," they would whisper. "It was tight in the boy’s hand, and the only thing it said was ‘Bran Hambric, born June 17. To: Clarence’."
But no one knew more. Sometimes, in tones so hushed that Bran had to strain his ears, he often heard another word— never shared with Sewey, but offered as the only possible explanation.
"Magic."
"Pay attention!" Sewey snapped, breaking Bran out of his thoughts. Bran counted the papers in Evictions, but when he got to three hundred he decided to give up on the rest. They sat on the chimney beside other piles, some marked Overdue, others Dangerously Overdue, and still others Very Dangerously Overdue.
It wasn’t like Bran was the only strange thing that had happened on Bolton Road. Just that Tuesday, a dozen red roses had been delivered to their door, addressed to Rosie Tuttle, with strict instructions addressing them to Rosie and Rosie alone.
The card was signed with an enormous, swirling letter B, and the instant Rosie set eyes on it she tore it to pieces and threw it away, and would say nothing about it to anyone.
Instead of minding his own beeswax, Sewey Wilomas had decided to piece the torn shreds together like a puzzle with staples and sticky tape. When he finally got them in order, he caused such a terrible ruckus with every Bob, Binkey, and Balfred in town that the neighbors had called the police, who carted him off for a day’s worth of scrubbing the sewers. Unfortunately for Bran, community service hadn’t phased Sewey in the slightest.
"Overdue payment on the Bogwingle’s…" Sewey mumbled on, scribbling ONE DAY LATE in bright red.
"Another one for Evictions," he said, passing it to Bran.
"But it’s only a day late!" Bran protested.
"Do as you’re told!" Sewey snapped back at him.
Bran resisted the temptation to grumble and slid it into the stack, leveling the flashlight and trying to keep himself awake.
Suddenly, a noise brought his head back up. He glanced over his shoulder into the Wilomases’ backyard. Everything was still, except for that soft sound—like the rasping breath of someone being strangled.
"You know Bran, I’m some really good banker," Sewey said, stretching. "Always keeping these accounts in line, not to mention raising you after the Accident."
Bran sat frozen, listening, but the hiss faded into silence.
"It takes great skill to be a banker," Sewey went on as he stamped another paper. "But to be a banker and run a household? That is a miracle in itself—Oh, rot! I stamped the wrong one!" He wiped the ink with his hand, which only smeared the
words LATE CHARGE like tire tracks across the page. "Never mind—put it with the others."
Bran hesitated before taking the paper, and then heard the sound again—a rasp that sent a chill through him.
"Bran, stop shivering! You’re jarring the light again." Sewey elbowed his leg.
"Hold on, what’s that sound?" Bran asked, peering into the backyard.
"What sound?" Sewey demanded. "Come now, there’s no use letting your imagination get the best of you. Can’t you see it’s past midnight? Everyone who has half a brain is in bed by now."
Bran squinted into the darkness. There was a rustling, but it disappeared quickly.
"Bran!" Sewey demanded, louder. "Put this one in Evictions right now, before I evict you off this roof…headfirst!"
Bran finally set it in the stack, and the noise was gone. He told himself it was nothing to be afraid of. It could be squirrels, or raccoons, or…anything—there were plenty of sounds in the night. The wind blew the papers into his face again, brushing fear away as he fought them back into the pile. All of a sudden an idea popped into his head. He glanced at Sewey. It looked like the time was right. Sewey yawned deeply.
Perfect, Bran thought, hiding a grin.
"Oh, would you look at this?" he announced abruptly, taking an eviction notice from the stack. Sewey ignored him and went on with his work.
"Old Widow Gray, set to be evicted three days from now," Bran added with a hint of sadness.
Sewey perked up, if only a little; but Bran saw his expression, and knew he was on the right track.
"Remember last year, when you were sick with the Shoebug virus?" Bran asked. "Widow Gray sent a card and even baked you a cake, all to yourself."
Sewey flashed a wry smirk, which he quickly stifled. Not today, Bran knew Sewey was thinking. Won’t get the best of me on this one.
"And she even delivered eighteen rental videos to our door," Bran went on. "I can’t believe a nice old lady like her would get evicted."
"Hmmm…" Sewey said in a low, thoughtful voice. "I remember the cake."
"You were sick in bed for three weeks, and who came over to see you every single evening?" Bran went on, shuffling the papers in the air. "Widow Gray, wasn’t it?"
Sewey shook his head, but it was no use. The problem was that though his heart was fourteen sizes too small, it was still there, and it greatly got in the way of business when Bran poked it in just the right place.
"Oh, rot, just hand it here then!" Sewey burst, throwing his hand out. Bran had it ready and with one long, angry swipe, Sewey drew an enormous X over the entire page. He rolled it up into a ball and furiously tossed it over the rooftop.
"And look at this: Mr. Brooleybob, eviction set for next week," Bran continued, picking up a paper. "Remember when we all went to the Banker’s Banquet in Ellensburg, and you took a wrong turn and we ended up in the desert for three weeks?"
Sewey coughed.
"Which reminds me, remember when we almost got evicted because you spent the house money on Balder’s birthday?" Bran leaned a little closer to Sewey with another. "I think it was Mrs. Todilmay who loaned us the money with no interest. Because, of course, she knew that the bank where you work would evict us if—"
"Oh, rot, just hand me the whole stack then!" Sewey barked. He snatched the stack with both hands, and with a great heave, ripped every single eviction notice in two. Next came the Overdue, then the Dangerously Overdue, and finally the Very Dangerously Overdue—all torn and over the roof.
"Well then," Sewey growled when he finished. "Since I’ve just destroyed all the work I’ve done this entire night, I might as well sign off on my own resignation." He scowled at Bran. "Now for all the trouble you’ve caused, just sit over there, in the dark!" He grabbed the flashlight and waved the beam across the roof, toward the other edge.
Bran was about to protest but decided against it, sighing as he sat down next to the ladder. Sewey wasn’t far off, but the light was dim, and the night was very dark.
What a mess, Bran thought, staring at the torn papers everywhere. No doubt I’ll be the one who has to clean it—
Bran froze...the strange sound was back, closer than before. He sat up straighter and looked around. Something snarled, hissing and breathing hard, like a seething dog pulling against its chain, choking the air out of itself. But then, just as quickly, the devilish sound faded into the night. Bran could now hear a soft scraping, like feet across metal, getting closer each second.
"Sewey," Bran whispered hurriedly. "Can you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Sewey murmured, oblivious.
"That noise…" he said, looking around with alarm as it got closer.
"What noise?" Sewey asked. "Stop babbling! Can’t you see I’m trying to—?"
A flurry
of motion next to Bran cut Sewey off in mid-sentence. There was another loud hiss as Bran jumped from the edge—and not a moment too soon, as the most hideous thing he had ever seen leapt onto the roof behind him.
Chapter 2
Chasing Shadows In the Dark
Bran shouted, Falling Forward and hitting Sewey’s briefcase, sending papers into the air. Sewey leapt up at the sight of the creature, jerking back against the chimney with Bran in front of him, the flashlight still in his hands as the monster’s feet hit the rooftop.
The creature was crouched over, his hands hovering inches from the shingles—his body the shape of a man, though his face was twisted and his skin rough and mottled with green and brown. The black claw-like fingers were thick and balled into fists, and he hissed and gasped through clenched, jagged teeth—that same sound Bran had heard not a minute before. His eyes shone an empty green, his smell like death and sweat. It made Bran sick all the way through, as if someone was sucking the air from his throat with a vacuum. Sewey pulled Bran back as the creature slid forward, looking from one to the other.
"S-Sewey!" Bran stammered, staring at the monster, hardly able to believe his eyes. Sewey trembled, brandishing the flashlight like a weapon.
"Great Moby…" Sewey breathed, his eyes wide. He struggled to train the flashlight on the monster’s face, who cringed and shrieked all of a sudden, covering his eyes.
"Shamblesss!" the creature screamed, turning his head to escape the light, his voice dry and cracking. He gave a horrible, bloodcurdling scream and stumbled back. Suddenly he gave an enraged snarl.
"He’s going to jump!" Bran shouted, a moment too late as the creature sprang forward, catching them both. Bran fell to the side but managed to grab hold of the rooftop, scraping his fingers. Sewey scrambled but the creature caught his arm, slamming him against the chimney.
"No, please no!" Sewey shouted, his cheeks white with fear. The creature snarled at him, grabbing the flashlight. Sewey tried to get his revolver up and Bran scrambled to his feet, but they were both too late, as the creature shoved Sewey to the side. Sewey lost his balance and started to roll, and in a second Bran saw him reach the edge and go over with a shout.
"Sewey!" Bran yelled, but the creature spun to face him. The monster’s eyes were wild. He threw the flashlight over the edge, crouching again, his gaze trained on Bran.
"Shamblesss…" he hissed, purring almost, stepping forward slowly.
Bran slid back a step. The creature gave a low growl, as if he had cornered a victim and was moving in for the kill. Bran knew he was just steps away from the edge of the roof. He clenched his teeth. "Go away," he whispered. There wasn’t any power in his voice, and the creature took another slow step closer, stalking him, waiting for Bran to make the first move. Bran’s palms were sweating as the creature’s eyes rolled around, watching him closely.
"S-stay back!" Bran commanded, his voice wavering. The creature stepped forward, and Bran held his hands out, ready to defend himself. The creature tilted his head and let out a small hiss.
"Shamblesss…"
Bran swallowed hard. The creature had spoken it again, that word. He stared at Bran; going still, as if waiting for Bran to respond.
"Shambles?" Bran said softly. "Is that your…name?"
It was the first thing that came to him. But in a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer in the green of the creature’s eyes— of recognition, of memory, of something that was completely different than what had been there before. It almost seemed that when Bran said it, the creature’s muscles relaxed just a bit.
"Yesss," he finally hissed.
There was silence between them, Shambles breathing hard.
"What do you want, Shambles?" Bran asked quickly, stalling for any time he could. Shambles coughed, lurching forward. Bran stepped back hurriedly, but Shambles only fell, trying to breathe. A black bracelet was around his wrist, its green gem catching the light, and something Bran could not see was clutched in his right hand.
"Hambric…" he choked. "Mussst…take Bran Hambric… back…"
Instantly, Bran’s muscles tightened. The creature…he knew his name! It made Bran’s skin go cold and he jerked his hands up.
"H-how do you know who I am?" Bran gasped, drawing back. Shambles hissed again, looking up, remembering something, like a memory that was surfacing in his mind.
"Emry…" he hissed. "Emry Hambric…wasss your mother…"
Shambles looked into his eyes. "She wanted it…she wantsss you to come back."
Bran was still. "My mother?" he whispered. Shambles’s words struck him hard—he had never known her. "I don’t have a mother," he finished.
Shambles hissed, trying to breathe, looking over Bran intently as if there was something in Bran he was trying to recognize.
"Her necklace…" Shambles whispered, his eyes moving down. Bran barely caught the words, and he looked at his neck: he wasn’t wearing any necklace at all. He looked back, but Shambles was staring at him, almost as if Bran wasn’t there and he could see through him.
He’s insane, Bran thought with alarm. Shambles closed his eyes, whispering words so low Bran couldn’t hear them; and when he looked up again, Bran saw that the color behind Shambles’s eyes had gone empty once more. Bran saw something moving in his silhouette—a rope! Shambles held it out, tensing to grab Bran and tighten it around his wrists.
"No!" Bran shouted. There were less than five steps between them. He glanced at his feet, and just as he did, he felt the edge of the roof and almost lost his balance. He was trapped.
"Shamblesss…will take…Bran…back," Shambles hissed.
"Stop, now!" Bran shouted.
Shambles bent over, waiting for the right moment to strike. "Find Bran…bring him back…" he hissed, as if hearing voices in his head.
All of a sudden, Shambles lashed out with his hand, hitting
Bran hard and grabbing hold of his arm. He pulled Bran and spun him around. Bran was faster and jabbed his elbow into the creature’s ribs. He heard Shambles gasp with pain.
"Let go!" Bran’s voice echoed down the street. He slammed his fist into the creature’s skin, but Shambles fought with a strength that was inescapable.
Suddenly, there was a gunshot from below. The bullet hit the chimney and sent shards of brick flying, pieces of it digging into Shambles’s exposed arms. He shrieked, grabbing his skin. Bran took his only chance and pushed Shambles hard; there was another gunshot that missed again, and he heard Sewey shouting below. Bran leapt away, but in a rush of motion, Shambles tripped, losing his balance and falling headfirst into a roll, all the way off the edge of the roof.
Sewey gave a shout, and the gun went clattering off. Bran was nearly petrified, but there wasn’t a moment to lose, so he rushed down the ladder, not even thinking of what Shambles had said anymore. Just as he dashed around the corner, he was pushed off his feet by Shambles’s running the other way. They fell to the ground, but the creature didn’t hesitate, his knee catching Bran’s chin. Bran shouted in pain, but Shambles leapt up, taking off down the road, and Bran heard Sewey groaning from around the corner.
"Ohhh!" Sewey moaned. "My back! Where is that blasted fiend?"
Sewey was in the grass, searching frantically for his gun, but certainly alive and well, except for a sore back and some very flattened bushes next to the house.
Bran struggled to his feet.
"Sewey, he’s gone!" he said as he rushed up.
"Of course he’s gone." Sewey snatched his gun out of the grass, and then squinted in the dark.
"Great Moby, what is that thing?" he said, and without taking a second to think, he raised the gun and took a crazy shot, the blast sounding through the neighborhood.
Of course the shot missed, and Shambles disappeared into the dark.
"Oh, rot!" Sewey shouted, waving his arms. "Get in the car!"
"You’ll never catch him!" Bran protested.
"Just get in," Sewey roared, already running. He wrenched open the rusty d
oor of his old automobile and, finding he had no keys, quickly reached under the car and pulled out his emergency key lockbox hidden above the wheel. The tires squealed as Sewey rocketed out, throwing Bran against the torn cushions in the backseat. Bran managed to sit up as the car flew out of Bolton Road and onto the intersection. He could scarcely see the creature from so far away. Sewey spotted him, though, and punched on the gas, gripping the wheel with both hands. Bran was thrown to the other side of the car as Sewey spun onto Barryless Street, skidding over the curb. Sewey hit eight garbage cans and a row of bushes, uprooting them into the air.
"That burglar thinks he can run fast, eh?" Sewey challenged. "Ha! My old Schweezer can drive faster than anyone."
The Schweezer gave a loud pop in protest. The creature cut through a fence and onto Gnibnobbin Lane. Sewey sped around the corner but then immediately slammed on the brakes. Bran knew why: Officer McMason patrolled that street and wouldn’t like at all to see Sewey speeding, again. They cruised slowly, Bran’s eyes scanning the houses on either side.
There were plenty of hedges and cars that the creature could have darted behind.
"He might have lost us…" Bran said. He moved to the other window and saw no sign of Shambles there either. Sewey went very slowly, watching for any sort of movement and running onto the curb many times. All of a sudden, Bran saw a figure dart out at the end of the road.
"There he is!" Bran shouted, pointing. Sewey slammed on the pedal at Bran’s outburst, and they went flying over the curb and onto the sidewalk.
"Where?" Sewey cried, veering into someone’s formerly well-tended lawn. He spun the wheel to avoid a tree, spun it again to avoid a bush, and went rocketing off the curb— sailing nearly two feet before they hit the ground with a shattering impact.
"Behind us!" Bran pointed in the other direction. The creature lunged down a street, and Bran gripped the sides of the car as Sewey made the turn and they crashed over some railroad tracks.
"Left!" Bran called.
"Right," Sewey agreed. The car skidded on its side, and the instant they made the turn, Sewey slammed on the brakes again, and Bran almost went through the window. The tires squealed, and with a great whump, the car fell back, and the engine gave a small spit and died.
