Drury Manor: Volume 1

by George Esler

indicated you were quite the avid archer.”

  I shrugged. “It’s something to do.” I loosened the arrow, detached the nock from the string, and put it back in its quiver.

  “Henry, Trevor, this is Seth,” Esau said, nodding to the two boys each in turn and then gesturing to me. “He will be staying with us for a while. Would you like to say a few words, Seth?”

  “About what?”

  “About yourself, of course.”

  “What’s to tell? My dad is going to be in Europe for the next three months, my mother with him, and I didn’t want to go. So here I am. End of story.”

  “There’s always more to the story,” Esau said.

  “Not in my boring life.” I turned and left the room, satisfied with the entrance I made.

  I didn’t know my way around the house, but it was simple enough to retrace my steps toward the front door. The butler had left my bags at the foot of the grand staircase in the main foyer. I assumed he would be bringing them up to my room later. That was his job, right? I certainly wasn’t going to lug all of that up all those steps.

  The hair along the base of my neck prickled; I paused by the stairs and looked up.

  A young girl stood at the head of the staircase, peeking down at me from between the railings of the ornate bannister that circled down to floor level. Her hair was blonde and curly, and she wore some kind of baby-blue old-fashioned frock-looking thing, like they wore in those old movies my dad liked to watch. Her mouth was pressed into a tight, grim line.

  I drew an arrow, notched the shaft, and pulled the string tight, all in one smooth motion. All I needed to do would be to relinquish my grip, and she would get an arrow through her heart. I loved the way people reacted when they saw an arrow drawn and pointed at them. Priceless. That’s why I did it.

  Except this girl didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch. She just stared down at me. I got the sense that she was displeased, even though her face never so much as twitched.

  “Aren’t you frightened?” I said.

  She just stared on.

  I laughed and headed out the front door.

  The muted orange sun hung low over the horizon, as though it could not decide whether or not to rise. A faint mist still clung to the grounds, but had mostly dissipated. A distinct chill bit at my exposed skin, but it was a welcome relief compared to the car I had ridden in to the old house, which had been stuffy and hot with the heater cranked up far too high.

  I descended the steps two at a time, and then stopped when I noticed a blue jay perched atop the cracked stone fountain that the horseshoe driveway curved around. A live target! I pulled the string back again, and was taking aim when a car door slammed shut. The noise spooked the bird, which hooted its displeasure and flew off. I cursed and glanced down at the end of the drive.

  The butler was struggling to heft a rather large bundle off of the ground and into the trunk of a rusting car that might have been older than me. The bundle was almost as long as he was tall, wrapped in some kind of black plastic, and flopped limply in his awkward embrace. But he finally managed, and slammed the trunk shut then rounded to the front of the vehicle.

  “Not many people show such interest in the help,” Esau’s cold voice boomed behind me. I had not heard him approach.

  I turned to him. “I enjoy watching people struggle. What can I say? It’s a hobby.”

  “How charming.”

  The engine rattled to life and the car began a slow trek down the driveway. “What was he loading in the trunk, anyway?”

  He shrugged. “A dead body, judging by the size of it.” I watched his face for signs of mirth, or some other indication that he was joking. After a long moment, he smiled. “How should I know what it was? Some old trash, as likely as not.”

  I watched the car amble off and wondered after it, but not for long. The weight of the bow reminded me of how badly I wanted to shoot something. “Whatever,” I said. I descended the rest of the steps and headed around to the back of the property. I meant to have some early morning target practice and then go exploring. I had caught sight of a well on my way up, and a lake beyond that. For some reason that I could not quite put my finger on, I really wanted to see that well.

  2

  I shot arrows at the stuffed targets until I grew bored, which turned out to be most of the morning. Some of the targets were just stuffed bags of straw mounted on sticks with bull’s-eyes painted on them, but there were man-shaped bundles, not unlike scarecrows. These were the ones I aimed for; it was much more fun to hit something that looked like a man. In that time, the sun slowly ascended to its proper place in the heavens and the remnants of the fog disappeared. The sky turned a dull sort of blue mostly hidden behind a dense cover of clouds.

  I have experimented with different kinds of bows, but found the compound bow too simplified, and the recurve bow too silly looking. I settled on a traditional longbow, sans arm guard, reassured by the lack of let-off, as this appealed to the purist in me that did not care for the more modern conveniences and developments. No sights, cams, stabilizers, or releases for me, just pure gut instinct.

  I judged the distance and angle, drew the string, felt the reassuring presence of the shaft near my ear, and let fly with the arrow. I was aiming for head of the farthest scarecrow, but caught it in the right side, at the rib. A disappointment, but all the same, had that been an actual enemy, he would be on the ground in agony right now, so all in all, not a bad shot.

  It was time to go check out the well. I left my stuff by the targets and strolled on down the path. The distant lake loomed nearer than before, and I thought I might walk down there after I was done at the well. What I meant to do there, I could not say, but something about it called to me, and I just wanted to check it out.

  There wasn’t much to it, really; just some old bricks surrounding a wide, deep hole, and a worn rope attached to a crank that disappeared down into the depths of darkness. I peered over the edge. Below, a great distance down, I thought I could just make out the shiny surface of the water.

  And something else.

  It blurred in my vision, like viewing something out of focus, and I rubbed at my eyes and had another look. What had I seen? A ripple? Something slithering along the surface of the water. Could a snake be down there? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t see anything now. I could barely even see the water. It was a long ways down.

  “Hello?” I called to the murky depths, just to hear my voice echo.

  Hello, hello, hello, it went.

  I stood there for another long moment, feeling suddenly dumb. Why had I been so attracted to this stupid well in the first place? There wasn’t even anything down there except some old, dirty water, and years of grime, and--

  A twig snapped from off to my right. I threw my gaze in the direction of the sound.

  In the distance, somebody was moving into the ring of trees that circled the property, not far from one side of the lake. Despite the wide gap between us, there was no mistaking the diminutive form and distinctive red hair of Trevor Drury. He chose his path with great care as he approached the forest. I didn’t think he’d noticed me, and he was facing away from me. But where was he going? What was out there in the forest?

  I decided to find out.

  I left the trail, following after the child. Two full minutes must have passed between the time he disappeared into the outermost fringe of trees and the time that I reached that same spot. Plenty of time for him to disappear and be completely lost to me, unless I got lucky, or unless there was some kind of marked path within the forest.

  I found no such path, but the forest itself pointed the way. A gentle sway to the land, a gradual dip over a bluff, a fallen spruce positioned just so, a break in the trees at the perfect spot, there was simply no question which way I should go. The ground started to rise again, up toward a bluff where the wall of trees parted, but the distance to the top was deceptive and soon the muscles under my shins started to burn and protest.

  I found T
revor just on the other side of the bluff, within a little clearing apart from the trees. Wildflowers grew thick in little clusters, and the wind whistled as it came through the interlocking branches of the nearest spruces.

  The boy sat cross-legged within a row of sanded, smooth stones that had been arranged in a neat little circle. His palms rested on his thighs, palms turned upward toward the sky. He was completely alone, but was speaking ardently, as if in the midst of a heated conversation. Very interesting.

  A moment later it hit me; it was some kind of chant.

  He alternately hummed, sang, and spoke in heated whispers, and occasionally he would tilt his head back toward the sky. He had no idea I was there. His eyes were closed, his face a picture of serenity. He clearly knew what he was doing, and this was not the first time he had come out into this clearing to perform his little ritual.

  I felt a cold gaze sweep across me and a chill went through me, as though the temperature has suddenly dipped twenty degrees. I spun in place, scanning the trees behind me to see what had changed, or if someone else was up here with us. They were either very well hidden or I had imagined it. But no! There it was again, that eerie sensation, like a presence, but now I felt it coming from an entirely different direction. I couldn’t explain why my knees started to buckle, but they did. Goosebumps lined the backs of my arms. The seconds crawled by, and Trevor continued to chant, and I continued to