by Leen Elle
He began to read and lost himself in several short stories of prairie farmers, city gentlemen, and southern ranchers. He didn't bother with the comprehension questions and his pencil only ticked the pages by lines he had difficulty with. He was not interested in learning; he only wanted to forget Mrs. Worthington, Gabriel, Aniline, and even himself. Maybe if he read about enough other people he would dissolve into them and cease to exist except in the way that fictional characters existed: suspended in a painless reality until some curious reader picked up a book and brought him to life, then set him down and left him to sleep, heedless of the many trials he'd faced a hundred times before with a hundred different readers, and which he would face a hundred more as new hands found and turned the pages.
Hours passed quickly.
Devon disappeared to the house for dinner. He returned and, grumbling, fed the horses.
The sun sank.
Derek squinted into the pages as the light dimmed and shadows crept into the corners of the loft. When at last he could not make out the shapes of the letter, he set the book down. He hunted around for his lamp and a match. He was only four paragraphs from finishing a passage about a boy taking a train to visit his cousin. He would stop as soon as the boy arrived safely. He could close the book then, and perhaps sleep.
When his lamp was lit, he picked up the book and started where he left off.
As Harold looked out the windows, countryside raced by; trees, rivers, and endless fields flew by on the other side of the soot-filmed glass. When the scenes grew tiresome he closed his eyes and dreamed of the pond behind his cousin's home. Harold looked forward to each summer's visit so he could swim with Billy, who was, to him, as the best older brother….
The farther Derek read, the more the words ran together. He yawned and shifted so he was lying on his pillow. His eyes drooped and he could do little more before he fell asleep than allow the book to drop onto his stomach, lamp light flickering over his face.
Chapter Twenty-two
Coughing and gagging, Derek woke. He wondered vaguely if he was being sick again. He stared around the loft blearily, his senses suddenly startled awake by the scorching light of a large fire spreading over the hay pile by his bed.
Derek jumped to feet, flames leaping after him. He ran to the ladder, yelling, "Devon! Devon!" His limbs shaking, he climbed down the ladder, jumping the final three rungs. The door to Devon's room was thrown open and the old man hobbled out.
"What happened?" he yelled.
"Fire!"
Devon stared for a moment, then seemed to realize he was, in fact, awake. "Run and tell the misses. I'll get the horses." He sounded impossibly calm. When Derek didn't move for a second, he yelled, "Go!"
Turning, Derek ran out into the dark night, all night fears dissolved in the thought of Devon staying behind in the burning building. He glanced over his shoulder as he ran. The entire side of the roof over the hay pile the side where his bed had been was lost in flames. It's going to collapse, he thought. He ran harder.
When he reached the house, he took the porch steps two at a time and slammed the door open. "Mrs. Worthington!" he yelled, tripping up the main staircase. "Mrs. Worthington!"
Beth emerged from her room first, a candle in her hand. "What are you "
"The stables are on fire!"
"Good Lord. Missus Worthington!" Beth ran into Mrs. Worthington's room as Atty come out of her own room, pulling a tattered dressing gown around her.
A moment later Mrs. Worthington came out, yelling for Gabriel. Beth and Atty rushed down the stairs and Gabriel stumbled into the hall, rubbing his eyes. "What's going on?"
"The stables are on fire!" Mrs. Worthington screeched. Grabbing a handful of her night dress to keep from tripping, she hurried down the stairs more quickly and with more agility than her usual manner of movement would suggest she could manage.
Gabriel glanced at Derek, who was still standing in shocked disbelief, breathing heavily, then followed his mother down the stairs.
Derek turned to follow them, but stopped when he heard a weak call from Catherine's room.
"Jonathan? Is that you?" She sounded scared and desperate.
Torn between running to help and wanting to comfort her, Derek opened the door a little and called in a shaky voice, "It's only me, Catherine."
"Jonathan? Why is everyone yelling?" Catherine stared at him with round, terrified eyes.
"No, it's Derek. Jonathan is still gone. There's nothing to worry about. But I have to go now."
"Where did Jonathan go?"
Derek opened his mouth but confusion and haste silenced any answer he might have found.
"Where is he?"
"He He had to go to Charlestown But I really have to go."
"Jonathan?"
Still confused and a little scared by the way she was acting, Derek closed the door and ran down the hall to the stairs. He would send Atty back to care for her. Right now he didn't feel right about being away from the fire.
The one you started, a guilty voice accused. If anything happens….
Derek burst through the front door, startled by the red glow that filled the sky over the knoll. As he ran toward the stables he heard the billowing roar of the flames and over it, even more frightening, the panicked shouts of Gabriel, Beth, and Mrs. Worthington. When he met the group Beth was working the water pump and Gabriel and Atty were running back and forth with sloshing buckets.
"Atty, Miss Catherine needs you," Derek said, taking the empty bucket from her. "I'll get this."
"But "
"Please!"
After looking at him for a moment, she hurried towards the house.
Derek ran to have his bucket filled. When he turned he noticed for the first time that the flames had eaten through the roof. Looking into the open door was like staring into a wild boiler. It was all glowing red and smoke shadows. It's useless, he thought even as he threw the water.
Derek was relieved a moment later when Devon appeared to man the pump, letting Beth join the frantic running of water. Derek, Gabriel, and Beth formed a line, passing buckets until all were exhausted. The flames mocked them, jumping higher, but Mrs. Worthington refused to let them stop even when the crashing of the loft boards falling into the stalls below signaled the point at which they could no longer hope that their little buckets might save the structure.
When at last even Mrs. Worthington could not argue with the fire, the night settled into a dull haze. They stood around the blaze with their empty buckets and watched. Mrs. Worthington was sobbing and nobody comforted her.
After the reality distilled upon the group, Derek wandered dreamily towards Devon, who was leaning heavily on the pump. "Where are the horses?"
Lifting a heavy hand, Devon motioned towards the corral.
In the light of the fire, Derek saw a lone figure pacing and trotting. It kicked its hind legs and shook its head with agitation. Squinting, Derek made his way towards the fence. Only one, he thought guiltily. Which one is it? As he approached, he recognized the leaner outline of Blueberry.
"Blue?"
The horse trotted to him and nudged his outstretched hand with his nose.
Patting him absently, Derek turned to stare back into the fire. He was lost in its dance and did not hear the first furious hiss. Nor the first yell. But by the time Mrs. Worthington began to bellow he could not help but be aware of her.
"You!"
Looking at her, Derek could only drop his hand from Blueberry's nose and stare at the ground. He could not argue with her fury and he would not have tried if he could.
Striding towards him with the furious steps of one unaware of anything around them, Mrs. Worthington reached him quickly and seized his arm in an alarmingly strong grip. "You! I should have known! I should have known! I should have known!" She seemed unable to say anything else and the deranged anger in her eyes glowed with the light of the flames.
"Mrs. Worthington "
"SILENCE!" Broken out of her ineff
ective rage, Mrs. Worthington pulled Derek towards the stables.
For a moment he thought she would push him into the building. He tried to dig his heels into the dirt but could not stop her determined motion. He was grateful when she stopped near Beth, but his relief lasted only the span of time it took the woman to bite out, "Put him in the attic." It was whispered like a death sentence passed by a vicious judge.
"No "
"Derek," Beth warned. "Not now."
Stunned and searching for some excuse or plea that might save him, Derek was easily transferred to the custody of the other woman and led away. When he found words, he choked out, "Let me go."
"Go where?" Beth asked with a calmness that her features did not convey.
"Anywhere."
"Don't be ridiculous," she answered. "You're better to take your punishment."
"What?"
"You did wrong and it cost Missus Worthington dearly," she admonished.
"But I "
"Derek, please don't argue with me. If I let you go and you ran off it would be my hide. And you would probably end up back here in a day or so, and in more trouble than you were when you left."
Unable to refute the argument, Derek stopped struggling and went with heavy steps. They reached the side door and entered the house. It was too quiet, unaware of the terror that had befallen its comrade. They climbed the stairs in silence.
In an effort to put off the inevitable, Derek pleaded, "Can I see if Catherine is all right first? She was so scared with all the yelling and it's my fault."
Beth looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
Leaving her side, Derek walked to the closed door at the end of the hall and tapped tentatively.
"Come in," Atty said.
He turned the handle and pushed the door open. "Is she all right?"
"She's sleeping now."
"She thought I was Jonathan," he babbled, suddenly haunted by the terror he had seen in her face. "He shouldn't have left her."
"Derek, you've seen she's fine."
Still frightened and upset, but numb, Derek followed Beth to his old room. She opened the attic door and warm darkness seeped into the room from the opening. "I'll try to bring you up some food before she comes to check the door."
Derek could not reply. His heart was pounding against his ribs and he was sure it would explode. His lungs seizing at the thick stench of rotting upholstery, he walked into the wall of humidity.
The door closed behind him and when the lock clicked he thought he was going to start screaming. Instead, he choked down the impulse and fear, and sank to the floor, pressing himself against the door in an effort to be as little into the attic as he could. Even with his knees scrunched up to his chest, he barely fit between the door and the bottom step of the steep, narrow stairs.
Hours passed. Days passed. A million years passed and the earth wasted away and Derek still sat by the attic stairs. The light from the eaves penetrated the darkness and slide down the stairs like a creeping beast slithering along on dusty belly over molded wood. It came so near he could almost touch it, then receded with the setting of the sun.
One day, he thought. I've been in here for one day. I think…. He suddenly couldn't recall if it had only been one advance and retreat of the light. Maybe it had happened a hundred times already and each looked so like the first that he couldn't distinguish them.
His stomach churned with hunger and his lips were dry and cracked: when they parted for breath he tasted blood.
The heat pressed in on him and his thoughts faded in and out of dream. One moment he was in the attic and the next he was lost in the woods. Almost instantly he came back to the attic, only to leave again. His head spun and he felt like he would fall over until he reminded himself that he was sitting. Derek's thoughts oscillated in and out of reality and terrible fantasy until there was no separating the two.
The attic melted away and he felt branches brushing his face and grabbing at his clothes.
"Find me."
I can't, Derek thought. It's too dark. He looked around the small corner he was squeezed into. Where were the trees? He looked up the stairs and saw them, dark and twisted, leering down at him.
"Find me!" The voice, sweet and insistent, came from above.
You can't find her if you just sit here, he told himself. Struggling against the stiffness in his legs, Derek shifted so he was half leaning on the stairs. His muscles felt swollen. He thought he was going to choke on the air. He had to find her. She was lost.
Unable to stand, Derek crawled up the stairs slowly, the trees of the black forest drawing nearer. He could see eyes in them and he stopped halfway.
"Derek!"
"I'm coming," he croaked through his dry, scratchy throat. He had to find her. He pulled himself up two more steps. His knees were sore. It seemed to take forever to reach the top of the stairs. He might have stopped to sleep along the way: he couldn't be sure. It was too hot. He needed water.
There's a pond, he recalled, thinking of the golden meadow. If I can get to the meadow, there's a pond. She'll let me drink.
Derek looked around, his head tipping drunkenly. The trees were gone. Shadow and form filled the darkness as his eyes adjusted and he could see the dressers, China cabinet, and dusty sideboard. Where was she? She was here the last time he'd come.
Derek struggled to his feet, leaning on the cloth-covered furniture. He stumbled, but did not fall. She had been hiding the first time. He had to find her.
"Find me."
Sinking to the ground, Derek closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he was in the forest again. The trees were thick and he could hear the night creatures closing in on him. He could hear them running through the underbrush, circling around him, trying to get between him and the girl before he found where she was. Derek tried to stand. He tried to run. His muscles would not cooperate.
He crawled.
He saw a hollow in a tree trunk far away. If he could only make it there before they caught him, he could hide. He would be safe for a moment.
It took days of fearful scrambling, but Derek made it. As he squeezed into the narrow space in the tree trunk, he realized he was not alone. He saw eyes. Human eyes. He tried to scream, but only managed a hoarse gasp. It was her! He'd found her!
"I'm here," Derek told her desperately in a scratchy rasp.
She did not reply. She was not alive. She was dead. The night creatures had killed her.
Derek tried to touch her face. It was rough and warm.
Pulling his hand back quickly, startled, he realized it had to be a trick. It wasn't her. It was a fake. A decoy. Which meant the night creatures knew where he was hiding!
Derek struggled to extricate himself from the tight quarters. If they found him here he would surely be caught! His shirt was stuck. The girl was holding his sleeve. He could not escape! He tried to push her away as he jerked himself backwards, but there was something behind him a night creature, perhaps. It hit him on the head with a deafening crack! and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
When Derek awoke, the light from the eaves was upon him. The sweat on his arms and back made his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. He felt like he was drowning in himself and the heat. As he pulled at his clothes to loosen them from his body, he peered around. He could see clouds of dust floating in the air between the lumps of furniture. He started to sit up, but his brain pulsed with pain. Closing his eyes, he pressed his hands to his forehead.
When he could open them again he realized he was lying on top of the painting of the girl. There was a hole in the canvass just under her chin, as though someone's fist had punched through it. He tried to sit back, but his sleeve was caught in the splintering corner of the wooden frame. As he freed himself, he noticed the small letters at the bottom. He squinted at them.
"Kylie Mae," he read slowly, stumbling over the second word. It's a name, he thought. He touched the rough paint of her face. "Kylie Mae," he said, trying the name. He
was lost staring into her green eyes for several minutes.
The light shifted away from him and slunk across the floor.
As he watched her, time faded away slowly and his exhaustion returned. He wondered when Beth would come with food, or if she would come at all. Maybe she had already come. He couldn't recall much beyond the moment of his waking.
The pounding in his forehead grew unbearable and the patch of dull light disappeared. Derek crawled out of the crevasse between the dresser and bookshelves. He crawled towards the cloth-covered furniture by the far wall. The effort expended to get there exhausted his energy and when he arrived he could not seem to pull himself up onto the soft, plush cushions.
He sank back onto the floor in front of the chair and closed his eyes.
Derek fought his way through the woods, pushing aside branches and fighting against the heavy vines that hung across the path. He could hear them behind him. He could smell the foul rot of a hundred devoured humans on their breath. He cracked his shins on stumps and stubbed his toes on dead logs as tried to run faster. He only tangled himself more in the underbrush.
"Derek!"
He fought to reach her voice.
"Find me."
The terror swelled in Derek's throat, choking him as he burst through the trees into a small, dark clearing. All around him, eyes stared out from the bushes. Teeth gleamed in the low light that seeped down from above the black canopy. It must be daylight. But the night creatures were out. He was too deep in the woods. The night creatures could come out in the day here….
One charged at him with heavy steps pounding over the ground. It was tall and dark and terrifying. Derek scrambled to get away, tripping and falling against a tree on the other side of the clearing. Another form came. It tried to grab him but he fought it off. He kicked the first, which was crouched beside him, its head raised, its teeth bared in hunger and fury.
