Threshold

by Sean Platt

  Oh God, I’m no better than Hazel!

  As much as Dad had pissed him off, and as stupid as he could be, Hudson knew most of it wasn’t really his fault.

  It was easy to point a finger at Dad. It made him feel better, and miss Mom less. Blame simplified everything. But in truth, Hudson felt bad for his father, more than he cared to admit. His wife had left him. He’d surely done something awful, bad enough that he wouldn’t tell Hudson or Hazel. If it wasn’t his rage, then he’d probably cheated. Then Mom left, or vanished. Either way, Dad was left to deal with a mortgage, two children, and endless unknowns.

  Hudson could appreciate, even if he couldn’t fully comprehend, what Dad was going through.

  Yet it was hard not to be mad at him. Because when it came down to it, Dad should’ve done something. Hudson wasn’t sure what that something was, but something to either find Mom or find out what happened to her. Something instead of the nothing he seemed to be doing in response to his world falling apart.

  If it hadn’t been for Alastair Galloway’s will, the family would’ve been doomed.

  But hell, Hudson was mad at him, too.

  What kind of asshole gives you the world with such extreme limitations? You can only keep the house and money if you stay here forever and ever, ha ha ha ha! He could picture the old bastard laughing while writing the will.

  Hudson tried to ignore his growling stomach. He wished he’d eaten more before taking off. If he went down in the kitchen to get food now, he might run into Dad, and he did not want that. It was nearly ten o’clock. He hoped his father would be heading to his room soon, likely getting drunk again, then Hudson could sneak down and grab something to eat without running into his old man.

  He thought about the medallion he’d found and had considered going back into Savannah’s room to see if he could find any other diaries or maybe something else. But he was scared. Hudson wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of being caught again or of whatever it was that had been in the closet with him.

  The worst part of it, other than Carter losing his shit, was how embarrassing it was to face Mara now. He could hardly look her in the eye.

  He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the manor as a prison.

  Then a light bulb went off in his mind.

  He didn’t know much about prison other than what he’d seen on TV and in the movies, but prison was often what the poisoner made of it. It could either be a punishment, a removal of all of your freedoms, or it could serve as a place of rebirth — a place to get in shape, to get educated, to make yourself a better person upon your release.

  Why not use the manor in the same way?

  There was a gym in the eastern wing where he could get buff, and the place had plenty to read. He would hole up in the house. Hudson’s next few years would be hell when it came to a social life, so why not spend them preparing for the rest of his life? He could leave the house at eighteen, rich, knowing how to talk to women, and ripped.

  Hudson was already smiling as he pulled out his iPhone and started searching for apps. He wanted one of those habit apps, like the kind Ronald Gorman used to do a hundred pushups. It took him six months, but a week before summer Ronald did all hundred in the quad, right in front of everyone.

  He swiped the glass, surprised to see that he’d missed seven texts in a row, all from Iris.

  Hey.

  You there?

  Hudson?

  Sigh …

  Hudson … my parents aren’t home.

  Okay. I guess you don’t want to talk.

  Or see what I look like without a shirt.

  Hudson’s heart was pounding by the final text. He wanted to call back, but his hand was shaking. He stood and started to pace.

  He texted: Sorry! Just saw these. Was at stupid dinner with my stupid family. You still around?

  One long half minute, then: Yay! You’re alive!

  Heart racing, Hudson tapped: Should I call?

  His phone rang instead. “Hello?”

  “I’m bored. Will you come over and play?”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “In the city. They won’t be back until super late. Like probably tomorrow.”

  “Where’s your brother?”

  “With Josh. At his house.”

  “Oh. Cool.”

  “So, are you gonna come over?”

  “I don’t know.” Hudson swallowed. “What are we gonna do?”

  “Whatever. We could watch TV.”

  Hudson didn’t know if he was supposed to ask about the thing she’d texted, about seeing Iris without a shirt on, or if he should pretend she never said that. Play it cool. Even if he wanted to say something, he couldn’t imagine moving the words from his mouth.

  “What’s on?”

  “I don’t know,” she laughed. “Who cares? We have Netflix and Hulu. We can stream whatever.”

  “Oh. Cool.”

  Hudson was working hard to keep from losing his shit. He felt stupid, and wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. Iris was inviting him over without her parents or brother home. She’d texted him seven times.

  She wants to have sex!

  “Are you sure you want me to come over?”

  “Why would I ask you if I wasn’t?”

  Because I’m an idiot who is trying his hardest to scare you away!

  “What if your brother finds out?”

  Oh, my God, did I really just say that? What the hell, Hudson?

  “He won’t. And who cares? He’s cool.”

  Hudson thought of Ronald, the only kid he knew who’d had sex for sure. Lots of kids said they did, but Ronald was too cool to lie about anything. He’d shown Hudson one of his apps: Daily Positions. He also showed Hudson four different positions and said those were the ones he’d already tried. They all seemed basic to Hudson, which made it even easier to believe that Ronald had actually “baked his cookies” and “buttered her muffin” like he bragged.

  “Does a girl have to beg?”

  “No.” Hudson stuttered: “I … I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

  “Hurry. Every minute you’re not here is another one closer to my parents coming back. I’ll text you my address.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Hudson hung up, put on a pair of clean underwear and his favorite jeans — the loose ones that hung slightly lower than his waist — and a loose-fitting tee that said, Whatever Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger. Except For Bears. Bears Will Kill You.

  He opened his door, peeked out, and slipped out of his room. He closed the door behind him and crept down the hallway, fists clenched, hoping no one would stop him. He made it to the foot of the stairs, down the stairway, and outside onto the grass, barely breathing on his way.

  He couldn’t risk leaving through the front door, so he took the long way, circling the manor out to the garage. Hudson was sitting on a motorcycle before realizing he had no idea how to ride it. He killed his embarrassment by telling himself it didn’t matter. Even if he knew how, a motorcycle would be too loud. He should take something easy to drive, and quiet.

  The more timid, and sensible, part of Hudson thought he should take the ten-speed. He could pedal into town, then if he got caught he would have committed a much lower infraction. Stealing exponentially worsened the crime, and virtually guaranteed his discovery. Hudson’s timidity was told to shut the hell up by the part that knew he was about to get laid. That part didn’t want to show up sweaty, and wanted to look cool driving up in an awesome car.

  He settled on a Land Rover — at least he’d likely be safe if he got in an accident — and grabbed keys from the wall. He climbed inside, turned the engine, then clicked the garage door opener, praying nobody would hear it and come running.

  He stared in the rearview mirror waiting to see the door behind him swing open, waiting for his father to appear, red-faced, ready to beat the hell out of him.

  The garage door
opened.

  Hudson pulled out, drove past the gate, then turned onto the road.

  Oh, my God, this is actually going to happen!

  **

  Iris was waiting for him on her front porch, sipping water from a bottle. “Wow,” she said, eyeing the Land Rover. “That yours?”

  “No, but I figured no one would mind since the drive is so short.”

  “Yeah,” she smirked. “I’m sure no one gives a shit that you stole an expensive car.” She laughed and gestured back toward the open front door. “Come on. Let’s get inside. We’re letting bugs in.”

  He followed Iris into the house. The door closed behind him. “Wanna watch TV?” Her words were slurred. She was obviously drunk.

  “Okay.”

  She handed him a bottle of water as he sat on the couch. The seal was broken, but the bottle was full. He twisted the lid and sipped, then spit it out. Iris laughed. “It’s vodka. I put it in the bottles. That way I can drink in front of my parents. It’s more subtle than my brother’s weed.”

  “Are you kidding? You drink vodka in front of your parents?”

  “Totally,” she slurred.

  “And they have no idea?”

  “They can’t tell,” Iris shook her head. The gesture was so exaggerated she looked like a bobble head.

  “Look.” Iris lifted her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which meant Hudson was looking at his first pair of naked breasts not online. They were more beautiful than he’d imagined, with small, light-pink, barely-there nipples.

  Iris lowered her shirt, and Hudson looked away, embarrassed. He didn’t like that she was drunk and probably doing things she might not do sober. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “You need to drink. Then we’ll be even.”

  Hudson nodded, sipped his vodka, then quickly started drinking faster, practically pouring it down his throat. He hated the burn and how it made him wince, but wanted to reach the other side. He’d had a little to drink before, of course, but had never been drunk. Hudson didn’t really want to be drunk now, but he did want to have sex, and not feel weird about it, like he did knowing that Iris was inebriated while he wasn’t.

  Hudson drank too fast. He lowered the bottle. His head started to swim.

  He counted two Irises, then four.

  The room was divided. His stomach was sick.

  He had to vomit.

  Hudson suddenly remembered that he’d had nothing to eat, almost all day.

  He started to wobble, and felt too much space in his head.

  “Oh my God!” Iris cried out. “Hudson, are you okay?”

  It was the last thing he heard before he fell over.

  Everything went black after that.

  * * * *

  HAZEL

  Hazel woke up standing in a dark forest, cold and shivering, wet grass like ice on her bare feet. The air was thick with wetness and strong scents of grass, earth, and trees.

  How did I get here?

  This has to be a dream.

  Right?

  Above her she heard a ruffling.

  She looked up to see a large black bird perched atop a dead, twisting, skeletal tree.

  The bird looked like a crow, but much, much larger.

  It looked down at her, its eyes gleaming a bright yellow in the darkness. Its beak opened as it pierced the still night air with a cracked version of her name:

  “HA-ZIIIIIL.”

  Behind it, dark clouds raced across the sky, suddenly choking the full moon.

  The bird violently shook in the darkness, thrashing its wings, looking as if it were fighting with itself.

  It split into two, the second bird seeming to push itself from somewhere inside the other’s body, coated in a thick embryonic sac as it plopped out onto the branch.

  Hazel cried out and fell back, scrambling to her feet and running away, deeper into the woods.

  As Hazel raced through the forest, she could hear the pair of caws turn to many behind and above her. She dared to turn back then wished that she hadn’t. The birds numbered in the hundreds, still splitting into more as they flew.

  Birds whizzed by, banging hard against her head, pelting her arms, and her back, almost knocking Hazel down.

  As they hit her, they fell like suicidal attackers, twitching, dying, but still replicating, gross wet birds emerging from the fallen, then taking flight.

  She kept running.

  Caws behind her swelled into the thousands, shrill shrieks screaming for her blood.

  More slammed into her.

  She thrashed wildly as she ran, trying to fend them off, but it was impossible to defend herself in flight.

  And if she stopped, Hazel knew she was dead. She was wearing thin pajamas — if she stopped it would only take seconds until they tore through her clothes and into her flesh.

  She ran harder and faster, ignoring the pain of rocks and branches cutting into the soles of her feet. More bumps, coming in hard, like rocks pelting her.

  Wake up, wake up!

  Ahead, the forest grew thicker and darker. She plunged ahead, hoping to lose the birds.

  The tiny beasts followed, now numbering in the tens of thousands, shrieking, cawing, calling Hazel’s name, and hitting her.

  And then the pain came — beaks poking her in the head, back, and legs.

  She screamed as she ran, as if someone might hear her, as if someone could save her.

  But there was no fighting this.

  She was suddenly surrounded on all sides, a swarm of beaks piercing her like knives. The pain was too much, and she dropped to the ground, rolling into a ball, trying to protect her face and belly.

  The birds descended on Hazel, blanketing her, tearing into her, biting her, filling her eyes and mouth with blood.

  They somehow managed to flip her over, pinning Hazel’s arms and legs to the ground as they continued their assault.

  Haaa-zzzzeeeeeelll

  She screamed, and the angry riot of crows raced past her lips, shoving their bloody feathered heads into her mouth. She tried to spit them out, as her arms were bound and lacerated into limp ribbons of meat at her sides.

  She bit down to crush the birds’ skulls. More blood filled her mouth. She tried to keep it closed, but claws ripped at her lips, peeling them back, along with her teeth. More crows forced their way — impossible — down her throat, swarming down into her lungs.

  Haaa-zzzzeeeeeelll

  She tried to move, but blackness was swelling around her, coming to claim her.

  “Hazel!”

  The final cry didn’t sound like a crow.

  She woke up.

  “Hazel!”

  The voice had turned softer, and she instantly knew it: Mom. Hazel sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, listening, waiting for Mom to call again.

  Hazel was trembling, drenched in sweat, pajamas painted on her skin by the horror of her dreams. She pulled the covers up around her, staving off the chills and shaking the last of the horrors from her mind.

  “Hazel?”

  The voice was different now, less demanding. More like a question.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “I need you, Hazel. Do you need me?”

  “Yes. I need you, Mommy.”

  Something about the room’s texture confused her, and Hazel wasn’t sure whether she was still in the dream. There were no crows or horror, but the world felt eerily silent, as if she and her mother were the only ones inside it.

  “Can you come meet me, Hazel?”

  “Of course, Mom. Where do I go?”

  “Can you go out by the gazebo? Where we met the last time?”

  Hazel nodded, somehow knowing her mother could see her response, and climbed from the bed. She stepped out into the hallway and felt nearly bowled over by a strong gust of her brother’s energy, left behind like stains from a ghost. She could tell that he’d been there, not terribly long before, doing something he wasn’t supposed to
do. He’d been sneaking around the garage, she could feel, though she didn’t know what he was doing.

  She thought to look for him, but Hazel’s body obeyed her mother’s call.

  “Hazel.”

  She made it outside to the gazebo but was only in it for a moment before she saw Mom standing farther out, on the other side of the gate along the manor’s edge.

  Hazel ran to join her.

  She stood at the gate, looking to see her mother waiting on the other side. She looked just as beautiful as she had the other night, moonlight bathing her in a white glow like some sort of angel.

  “Are you really here?” Hazel tried reaching through the gate to touch her mother. But she couldn’t stretch that far, and her mother didn’t move closer.

  “Step through the gate.”

  Hazel looked at the iron bars then shook her head. “They’re not wide enough. I can’t slip through.”

  “Bend the bars.”

  Hazel reached out to grip the bars and see if they were loose, or maybe weaker than they appeared.

  Mom spoke again. “Not with your hands.”

  Hazel smiled.

  “You know about my powers?”

  “Yes, Hazel, now use them on the fence.”

  Hazel narrowed her vision, focusing on the black iron bars, imagining them spreading apart.

  Suddenly one bent, ever so slightly.

  “Yes!” her mother cried out. “You can do it!”

  Hazel smiled, then renewed her focus.

  The bars didn’t just bend this time. They broke apart, four of them ripping right out of the fence.

  They flew behind Hazel and dropped to the ground with soft thuds in the grass.

  “Now step through, Hazel.”

  Hazel was about to do just that when she realized. “Wait a second. If I come out there, I’m leaving the manor. And if Hudson is already gone, I can’t go.”

  Her mother frowned. “I need you to come here, now.”

  “Why do you want me to leave the manor?” Hazel wasn’t questioning her mother’s decision; she simply wanted to know why.

  “Because I need you where I’m strongest.”