by Scot McAtee
“Who is she?” Ryder asked for the third time in the last few minutes. He had put his ginger hair in a ponytail as well, because his pacing had been causing it to fall into his eyes. “What is she? What did she do to him?”
Valentine shrugged sadly, not able to make eye contact.
The twins had panicked at their brother’s disappearance, and not knowing what would happen if they stayed, they had left for town after they were completely certain that Colt was gone. They were sitting at one of the tables of the library, trying to find anything useful.
They had scared the life out of the librarian, a quiet old woman who had just finished closing up. It wasn’t every day that two twin brothers raced into the library like their lives depended on it, especially around the stroke of midnight.
“Did you find anything else that might help? What the crime scene had looked like and where it was, where they found her. Stuff like that.”
Hesitating for a moment, Valentine took out his notebook and quickly wrote something down. Years of no speech had left his penmanship flawless, even when he was in a rush. ‘They never found her body. She disappeared.’
“Where did it say this?” Ryder was handed an article. He recognized it from before, though he had barely took notice of it at the time. It was short, only about a paragraph long, but it summarized that the criminal had been identified as Trevor Mil, and the body of Roseanna Demerath had yet to be found. If it hadn’t been for the messy crime scene, they wouldn’t have known what happened to her.
Ryder glanced up wearily. “The crime scene was in our house, wasn’t it?” Valentine nodded.
There was a silence before the elder of the two stood. “I think I know what to do, but I don’t think it’s going to end well.”
Valentine nodded again, following his brother out the door. He was rubbing the charm on his necklace, a nervous habit he had developed when he was younger. The cord and charm had been the last gift he had received from his mother before she passed, and it was said to ward off evil spirits. The twins had long ago decided that they were dealing with something otherworldly.
‘What are we going to do once we get there?’ Valentine wrote.
“Remember what Aunt G told us about evil spirits, ghosts, stuff like that?” Once again, the younger nodded. “If there really is one in the house, I think I know what to do.”
Ryder had no idea what to do. He knew exactly what he was going to attempt; he just didn’t know how to actually do it.
Valentine had gone back into the attic, so he was alone in the living room. His unease was starting to return, though it wasn’t as overwhelming as before.
The silence was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, but they sounded too light to be Valentine’s. Cold fear started to creep up Ryder’s spine. He quickly turned towards the door. With a loud, drawn creak, it slowly opened. The figure standing there was not the one he had been expecting. It was Colt, and he had a big smirk on his face.
“What the heck, Colt!?” Ryder yelled as his younger brother erupted into laughter.
“I got ya, didn’t I?” he asked with a grin.
“Why would you-”
Colt cut him off. “I wanted to see if you’d actually freak out if I disappeared for a while. You two are always ignoring me. I honestly thought you wouldn’t notice.”
They’d have to fix that problem later. “Where were you?”
“I snuck out a window and made a run for it. You were making a lot of noise, so it was pretty easy to avoid you.”
Ryder couldn’t help but admit that this did explain a lot. “Don’t you ever do something like that again. Val and me thought the house was haunted or something,” he scolded, but he couldn’t hide his relief. Thank goodness Colt was alright.
“Yeah, yeah,” Colt said. “Where is Valentine, anyway?”
The cold feeling returned in an instant. “H-he should have been back by now.” Suddenly, they heard a loud crash from above them.
Colt chased after as Ryder rushed up the stairs, climbing up the ladder to the attic.
There was no ghostly figure, and Valentine was still in one piece. He had been in the process of running like a monster was at his heels, and the twins almost crashed into each other. Valentine looked scared out of his skin.
“What happened?” Ryder asked. Valentine pointed a shaky finger towards the corner.
Ryder didn’t have a flashlight, so he used the light from his phone as he stepped closer. The terrible smell was getting worse, almost overpowering. Wood from the attic roof had fallen in, shattering the old mirror. But there was something else, too.
Cautiously, he lifted up a board, and immediately had to fight the urge to vomit. Laying there was the previously undiscovered body of Roseanna Demerath.
What was left of her, at least.
Curse
Being a bookworm, I was not a very social person. I was not shy by any means; I just didn’t see the fun in talking to kids my age. While other teens were on the computer or texting each other, I had my nose in a book. Book characters were my friends along with anyone else who liked to read.
This included adults, especially Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius. They were an elderly couple that owned a large stone mansion at the end of my street. They were very sweet and kind, letting me into their library and borrowing their books.
Their library was a magical place, seemingly going on for miles. It probably took up half of their home, and it was filled with hundreds upon thousands of books. Some were so tiny you’d think a fairy once used it. Others were so large they needed stands to be able to read them. The library contained every book you could think of, whether they be textbooks or fairy tales, pictures or words, long or short, the list was endless. I could always find a story to enjoy. With the dark, old bookcases, the large velvet chair, and the tall stained glass windows, the entire room felt timeless.
It was raining, so I decided to visit Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius. They were always home, and they loved it whenever I was around. They told me once that it was because they missed their children, and I assumed it was because their kids grew up and moved away without them.
Mr. Cornelius greeted me at the door, but he seemed a little nervous, which was unlike him. “Hello, Fable,” he said, his voice almost as crinkled as his face.
“Hello, sir,” I replied, smiling. I felt that I should be polite, since they did so much for me. “May I please come in?”
He thought for a moment before nodding, slipping out of the doorway to let me inside. I started to feel like I was intruding; he never hesitated to let me in before. I couldn’t ask him what was wrong though, for he was already leaving the room.
My mind was swimming with questions, some more reasonable than others, but I didn’t pester him. If he didn’t want to talk to me about it, then it was probably none of my business. Instead of following him, I went to their library.
Although there was no sunlight streaming in through the windows, the rain still casted strange rainbow designs onto the floor. I turned on the lights, sending a warm glow through the room, and I started my search for something to read.
There was one book near the top shelf that caught my attention. There was no title written on its dark spine, but it seemed worn and thick. If it was worn, then that meant it was worth reading, right? And if it was thick, then it would keep me busy for a while.
After taking a moment to find a stepladder to reach it, I took hold of the mystery book. As I pulled it off of the shelf, I heard a creak. I was confused. What was that? As I looked around the room, I didn’t spot anything unusual. Stepping off of the ladder, I started to investigate.
Two bookcases side by side sheltered a wall panel that had slipped up, revealing a door. It appeared to be a secret passageway. The door was small, made of a dark purple wood, with small and delicate golden carvings. I paused for a second before opening it up.
The door opened silently, not revealing what I expected it to. Instead of a magical wonderland, it was a dark and unnerving
tunnel that led straight down. Where did it lead?
Although the entrance was small, it was big enough for me to squirm into. After I had gathered my courage, I slipped inside and started to crawl. Instantly, the temperature dropped dramatically. If it hadn’t been so dark, I was certain I could have seen my breath.
Time passed on slowly. I wasn’t sure how long I had been down here. I kept thinking that I should turn back, but it was too late to stop now. Not only was it physically impossible for me to turn around, but if I left now, my curiosity would just get the better of me and I’d come back later.
The tunnel opened up, allowing me to stand. I was glad that I didn’t have to touch the freezing floor anymore. It seemed to be lighter here, though not by much. Many details were hidden from me by the darkness, but I could make out a large bag to my right and many boxes scattered around. Some of the boxes were knocked over or torn open. I couldn’t make out what was spilling out of them.
Cautiously, I went to the bag. I started to feel sick when I started to recognize what it was. It was a body bag. Although I probably shouldn’t have, I unzipped it. The victim was laying on their stomach, and I saw a deep stab wound in their back. Surprisingly, their clothes were not bloody in any way. It was strange.
Slowly and carefully, I turn them by the shoulder so I could see who it was. I was hoping that it would be just a nameless face, but it was Mrs. Cornelius. Her eyes were closed like she was sleeping, but I knew she was dead.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming towards me. Oh no. I was going to be next unless I got out of here. I turned to escape from where I came from, but saw a shadow in the tunnel. I couldn’t leave the same way they were coming; the tunnel was too thin for me to be able to slip passed them. I’d have to hide in here and bolt when I had the chance.
Before they could find me, I dashed towards the boxes and hid behind one. I tried to move them around to make a little fort for myself, but I had to stop and duck when the stranger reached the entrance to the room. “Who’s there?” I heard Mr. Cornelius shout.
I put my hands over my mouth. What was he doing down here? How did he know about this place? Did he know about Mrs. Cornelius’ death? He wasn’t the cause, was he? Wait. I had left the body bag unzipped. He’d know for a fact that someone was down here now, wouldn’t he?
He was muttering, looking around the room. I watched through the crack of my cardboard shelter. He saw Mrs. Cornelius’ body, and rushed over faster than I’ve ever seen him move in my life. He was shocked, horrified. So I knew the answers to some of my questions, at least. He didn’t know about her death, so there was no way he could have caused it. It seemed unlikely that he was just acting like he didn’t know; it was definitely a possibility, but it was also doubtful. They may have been an old couple, but love was love. Anybody could have seen it. He’d have no reason to hurt her.
Despite that, I still felt that he shouldn’t know I was down here. It was just a paranoid feeling that I couldn’t shake, so I decided to listen to it. While he was picking up his wife, I started to crawl around behind the boxes, inching my way closer to freedom.
Mr. Cornelius beat me to it, though, going through the tunnel with the body. How he planned on getting her through the crawling part, I didn’t know. How he got down here at all was a mystery, really. If I barely fit, then how did he?
I didn’t worry about it, deciding that I should figure that out once I learned what was going on here. There didn’t seem to be any doors, just the passageway. Nobody was down here but me. Maybe there were some clues? If someone dared to hurt Mrs. Cornelius, they’d have to deal with me.
More footsteps echoed around the room, startling me. They were different from Mr. Cornelius’s footfalls; they sounded like whoever was making them was already in the room. Quickly, I jumped back over to the boxes, not wanting to be seen by whoever this was.
I had no doubt in my mind that this was the real killer. I also had little doubt that I’d be next. I’ve seen too much. He’d kill me, and then finish off Mr. Cornelius. There was no way I was going to let that happen. Who would avenge Mrs. Cornelius then?
Feeling around in the dark, I tried to find something I could defend myself with. There seemed to be doll parts spilling out of the boxes. I didn’t know why, but that gave me a sickening feeling. Something so playful in a horrible place like this. The footsteps grew louder, and my search grew more desperate.
Finally, my fingers rapped around what felt like a lamp. Maybe there was an electric socket somewhere that I didn’t know about. It wasn’t plugged in, so it wouldn’t mess up my swing. I tightened my grip, ready to knock this criminal’s lights out.
The footsteps drew closer, and I tried to look for them so I could time it right. 3…2…1…now! I swung as hard as I could, slamming the lamp into the figure’s head, knocking them down to the ground. My lamp was broken, but I still held on to what I had as I bolted out of the room. I wasn’t sure if my blow would do damage or just slow him down, and I didn’t want to stick around to find out.
Shock and panic surged through me when I saw that the entrance was gone. What happened? Where could it have gone? Giant holes in the wall don’t just vanish; where could it have gone?
Slowly, I turned back around to the person I had just attacked. It looked like a boy. Despite everything, I felt horribly guilty, and rushed to his side.
Immediately I saw his strange appearance. He didn’t have fingernails, they seemed to be claws. As he opened his eyes, or lack thereof, I saw that his hair was the solid black the tunnel had been, and he had a windup key in his back. His skin resembled plastic, and he overall looked artificial and creepy.
He sat up, turning to me. His head make a click sound. “Hello,” he said. His voice was cold like the room.
I wasn’t sure what to do, so I answered him. “Uh, h-hi?”
“Why are you down here? Did you let your curiosity get you in trouble?” His tone was playful and childlike, but I could hear the poisonous malice in his voice.
“I didn’t know what was down here…”I said, attempting to defend myself, though I was really just proving him correct.
“Of course you didn’t; nobody does. That’s why people still come down. Every generation, someone wanders down here.” He muttered with distaste, “Though a girl has never come down here by her own free will before…”
“Huh? What are you-“
He cut me off. “Shut up!” He hissed, revealing white fangs. “What does it matter to you? You’re not going to live long enough to care, anyway.” He started coming towards me.
So many more questions were running through my head. “Wait!”
He stopped, glaring at me. “What?” He didn’t like being interrupted.
“Just tell me this, and then you can go back to the killing me thing,” I said, trying to appear calm. “Who killed Mrs. Cornelius? Was it you?”
“I thought that would be obvious.”
“Why?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“We repeat the story every generation.” He was smirking; he liked to tell this story. “We just go over the motions, over and over again, unable to stop it. We’re puppets. Windup dolls. I’ll make sure you’re one, too.”
The explanation made little sense, but I still understood what he was saying. The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Who’s the psycho that did this?”
The boy, his name still unknown to me, smiled widely, showing off his unnatural sharp teeth. Narrowing his missing eyes, he replied with, “Why don’t you come here and meet ‘im?”
With that, he launched himself at me, and my vision went black.
I woke up screaming as the thunder boomed outside. I looked around the room, dazed. “Huh?” I was in Mrs. Cornelius’ big velvet chair, with the book that started it all in my hand.
“Fable? Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Cornelius, alive and well, entered the library. I was so relieved, I wanted to cry.
“Y-yes, ma’am.” I looked down
at the book in my hands. It was titled The Curse of the Puppet Boy. It was a horror story, but I didn’t remember ever reading it. I sighed in relief. This wouldn’t be the first time a creepy book caused me to have a nightmare.
Mrs. Cornelius seemed to be satisfied, nodding shakily. “Perhaps you should head home. It’s getting late, and your parents will get worried. You should go now before the next storm hits.”
“Okay. Thank you for letting me come over.” I got up, taking the book with me. I wanted to learn more about that kid.
She turned, and I had to bite my lip to silence the gasp. As she was leaving, I saw a windup key in her back where the stab wound had been. The foreign object almost looked natural there, like she had always been that way.
Did I have one? I lifted my hand up to check, but before I reached my back, I saw a flash by my wrist. After experimenting a little and feeling it, I realized with a jolt of horror that it was a puppet string. There were two, one on each of my wrists.
Terror was surging through me. I didn’t know all of the answers to my questions, but I didn’t want to stay and find out. I felt that if I did, I wouldn’t live to tell the tale. Taking Mrs. Cornelius’ advice, I fled the house, hearing the puppet boy’s laughter as I ran.
My mother asked me what was wrong as I rushed passed her, racing up the stairs to my room. It seemed that nobody but my mom was awake, so I was careful to shut the door quietly before searching my room for a pair of scissors. I cut my strings, then threw open the dark book, which was becoming more menacing the longer I looked at it. There had to be an answer in here somewhere. I didn’t bother with the beginning, knowing that they didn’t tell you how to defeat the monster until the end of the story.
It took me about half an hour to find some answers. The first was the fact that it was written by Julia Cornelius. That was Mrs. Cornelius’s grandmother. The second was the fact it said ‘based on a true story’. So this novel had been based on whatever that thing was in the tunnel. The story explained that the boy couldn’t leave the room because of the charms carved into the door, but the book was the key to the entrance. If the book was removed, then the door would be revealed. I already knew this part. Thankfully, it said that even if the door was wide open, he still wouldn’t be able to leave. He’d have to draw you in to get to you.
Growing impatient, I started skipping around the pages. Maybe there wasn’t a way? How did the story end? I turned to the very end. The last chapter was dark and gory, and a sinking feeling dragged down my confidence as I read the words. Julia didn’t know how to get rid of him or how he showed up in the first place. He was just there. I should have expected this though; if she had known what to do to get rid of him, he’d be gone already.
So what could I do? I felt like it was my duty to get him out of there, whoever he was. Why did he want to do this? I didn’t see what he was accomplishing through these actions. He was also a windup doll. Someone had to be keeping him running. Maybe even he didn’t know his intentions.
I shut the book, staring at the cover. The curse. Someone had to give someone else a curse. They didn’t just come out of nowhere. Did the Cornelius’s have a rivalry in the past, and said rival cursed them with this doll? Maybe they did, but didn’t realize it. Maybe someone was hired to make this little monster to haunt them. I didn’t know. I growled in frustration. I was just running in circles!
I’d have to get answers from the source. Maybe instead of him leading me inside, I could draw him to the entranceway. There was no way I was doing it tonight, though, not while it was storming like this. I was too shaken up now. I’d be braver tomorrow, and if I acted unafraid, then it was more likely that he’d take me seriously.
After setting the book on my nightstand, I shut off my lamp and tried to get some rest. That night I was barely able to sleep, afraid that every creak of the house was him, that every shadow casted across my room was the life-sized windup doll watching me through the window. I knew there was no way that it could be him, but my paranoia didn’t loosen its grip.
The next day I was exhausted, but was too nervous about what would happen today for it to truly affect me. I had to fake a cheerful grin when I asked my mother if I could go back, and although she was a little suspicious about how I had acted last night, she said yes. My knees were shaking the entire way. What was I doing? I had escaped last night when I probably shouldn’t have, and had been lucky that the strings were so easy to get rid of. What if I didn’t get away this time? What if I became a windup doll? What would happen to me after that? Would there really be much of a difference, or would I act like him? Mrs. Cornelius had seemed just fine, acting as she usually would.
Once again I knocked on the door, and I could almost pretend that nothing was wrong. Mr. Cornelius opened the door for me, and we exchanged greetings. He seemed fine as well, and it appeared that he didn’t remember what had happened the night before.
Clutching the cursed book in my hands like it could somehow protect me, I stepped into the library. The sun shined through the stained glass windows, sending playful colors across the room, but my expression was still grim. “Hello?” I called out to the seemingly empty library.
There was no answer, but I didn’t expect there to be one. The trap door was still open, which honestly surprised me. “Hey, are you down there?” I asked, kneeling down next to the door. Careful to keep my distance, I set down his book and waited.
He didn’t respond, but I could see his missing eyes in the darkness. He was watching me with pure and utter hatred, probably because I escaped his grasp and wasn’t under his spell.
I was terrified to see him again, but if I couldn’t get rid of him, then I’d have to be kind and convince him that what he was doing was wrong, right? But I already doubted my poor excuse for a plan. “So…What have you been up to?” It was so awkward and strange trying to start a conversation in this situation.
The look on his face told me that he couldn’t believe how big of an idiot I was. “I’ve been plotting your demise,” he answered, glaring at me. It was probably driving him crazy to be so close to me and not be able to reach me.
“Well that’s nice,” I muttered sarcastically. We were not off to a good start. “My name is Fable. What’s yours?” Though he was being hostile, he was also being passive, not actually doing much but threatening and watching me. That gave me confidence.
He didn’t answer. Did he have a name? The story never said that he did. I remember what my mother told me once. Names have power. Maybe he did have one, but refused to tell me because of that. There was a story I read before that told about a large, horrible beast that could only be controlled if you knew its name. Maybe this was his situation, and he didn’t want me to know because he didn’t want to be someone’s pet.
“Okay, fine, no name.” Now what? I hated my poor communication skills. “Um…” I might as well get straight to the point. “Why did you put a windup key in Mrs. Cornelius’s back, and why did you put puppet strings on me?”
His answer wasn’t something I expected. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I stared at him for a moment. “Y-you don’t know? You’re just doing this for no reason?”
He snarled at me, startling me and causing me to jump back a little. “Of course I have a reason!”
“…You just don’t know what that reason is?” He didn’t answer. He just continued to growl at me like a wild animal that was trapped in a corner. “How long have you been down there?” He stopped.
After a while’s hesitation, he muttered, “…I don’t know.” I wish he had eyes. I would have had a better idea of what he was feeling or thinking. Before I could open my mouth, he said, “But don’t you dare start pitying me!” He said the word ‘pity’ like it was a terrible disease.
As we were talking, he was inching closer and closer to the doorway, towards the light. I had never seen him so close to the light before, and although the sun’s rays didn’t reach him, I could see his features better. His skin w
as extremely pale, like a porcelain doll. His windup key was worn silver, and he seemed more grown up than before. His missing eyes hypnotized me.
“Don’t worry. I’m not pitying you,” I lied, quickly attempting to assure him. He seemed satisfied with my response. “If you don’t know the reason, then why are you doing it?” I continued, “and what exactly happens when someone has a key or string?”
This seemed to be the question he was waiting for, the only reason he was sticking around. He smirked and lazily lifted a finger, and my arm rose up against my will. I was horrified. I had cut the strings! How could he still do this?
“You are really starting to annoy me with all of your questions.” He appeared to think for a moment before saying, “Go jump off a cliff or something.” He flicked his finger, and terror gripped me as I started to walk out of the room. Oh no, oh no. There was no way he was going to do this!
A name was what I needed, right? That was the only thing I could think of. Even if I was wrong, he’d probably hesitate, right? As my feet took me out of the library, I started running through a list of names. There had to be something!
All I could think of were boring average names that were popular today. If he really did have a normal name, then it would be something that was popular when Mrs. Cornelius’s grandmother was alive, or possibly even longer ago than that. Was his name even English?
The fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin flashed across my mind, and I smiled dryly at the thought. But wait a second. In that story, the character’s name wasn’t even a name. Maybe that’s the secret.
I opened the front door, but before my puppet strings could take me farther, I shouted out the first thing that popped into my mind. “Click!” I stopped moving. Huh?
At first, I was too relieved that I wasn’t going to kill myself to care what was happening. Then I felt myself being dragged back to the library. The windup doll boy was as close to the doorway as he dared to venture, rage on his face. “What did you just call me?”
My victorious feeling deflated. I hadn’t actually guessed his name; I just insulted him so badly he wanted to scream at me. That was nice to know. “You heard me!” Deciding to test my luck, I said, “Click, let me go.” To my amazement, he did. The touch wasn’t physical, but I could feel the magic loosen and drop. “Wait. Is that really-?”
“Yes,” he growled. “You have my name, big deal.” He was trying to brush it off, but I believed that this was the answer to my riddle.
“Well,” I had to say this carefully, “Click, tell me what knowing your name means.”
He instantly replied, “Exactly what you thought it meant.”
This excited me, and I started reading off my imaginary list. “Well okay then, new rules.” He broke eye contact, looking to the floor like a scolded child. “Click, you’re not going to kill anyone, you’re not going to hurt anyone unless it’s out of self-defense, you’re not going to lie to me, and you’re not going to control anyone you have under that spell of yours anymore.” If I thought of anything else, I’d do it later. After a moment, I added, “And you can come out there.”
That last one surprised him. “What?”
“I’m not the root of all evil. Come on out. I know you’re trapped in there. I’m saying, Click, that you can come and go through there as you please.” The reason he was so bitter was probably because he was treated like a monster.
After a moment, with great hesitation, he climbed out for the first time. As the sunlight touched him, his skin became a normal tone. His claws and windup key disappeared, and his eyes reappeared. They were a startling bright blue. His hair became more of a brownish color. He looked down at himself in pure amazement. This was probably the first time he’s ever seen himself human. Although I didn’t voice it, I thought that if he went back into the dark, he’d probably become a doll again.
“You can live with me if you want, or stay here,” I continued. “If you come with me, I’ll tell everyone your name is something else. I’ll treat you like a human being, and it’ll be a win-win for the both of us.”
His gaze held distrust. “Why are you helping me?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, smiling.
The Drive
Nyx sat in my passenger seat, stretching contently and grinning. “I am so glad school is over!” she announced, brushing her dark hair from her eyes.
I couldn’t help but agree with her. For a few months, at least, we wouldn’t have to worry about homework, drama, teachers, or waking up early. I was mostly glad that we’d never have to deal with Mr. Smith, or Hitler, as Nyx liked to call him, ever again. That man had honestly terrified me.
She was in the process of opening her mouth to say something else when she suddenly shouted, “Look out!”
Quickly, I slammed on the breaks, my headlights revealing a humanoid figure before it made contact with the vehicle. I winced as the car jerked lightly from the impact. “What did I just hit?”
“Um…I-I’m not sure.” Nyx dug around in my glove compartment for a moment until she found a flashlight, and then unbuckled. “I’m gonna go check. You comin’?”
As we both stepped out of the car, I couldn’t help but shiver, mentally scolding myself for not grabbing a jacket earlier. It had been blazing hot all day, but now that the sun had set, the air had chilled noticeably. Nyx didn’t seem to mind though, as she was already heading towards the front of the car and leaving me behind.
“Well?” I asked as I joined her.
Her eyes were wide, and she quickly turned and told me, “Call 911, you just hit somebody!”
Panic flashed through me with her words, and I immediately took out my phone. “No signal,” I muttered, looking over the damage I caused. “Great. My last day of high school, and I run somebody over.” That was going to look just fabulous on my college application.
It was a boy around our age, with shoulder-length black hair and pale skin. He didn’t have any visible injuries from where I was standing, but he was unconscious. Guilt coursed through me.
We stood in silence for a moment before Nyx leaned towards me and said, “I think he’s dead.”
“Nyx-,” I groaned, but she cut me off.
“Caroline, look at him. He looks like a vampire. Vampires are dead.” She looked down at him and shook her head sadly. “It’s a shame, too. He’s pretty hot.”
I rolled my eyes, and then knelled down beside the boy. “What should we do? It’s not like we can just leave him here.”
“Well,” Nyx started, but then started laughing as I glared at her. “I’m just kidding. You know I am,” she reassured. “Still, I think the answer is pretty obvious. We either drive him to a hospital, or we hide the body while we have the chance.”
I ignored that last part, looking over the teenager to see if he had any wounds I had missed before. There were none. My silence was encouraging Nyx to keep talking. “Seriously, I have a shovel at my place. No one has to know.”
“I swear, if someone hears you talking like that, you’re going to get us arrested. Give it a break; he’s not dead.” I stood up, brushing off my pants. “We’re going with the first choice, so help me get him in the car.”
She muttered while she helped me get him into the backseat, but since she had a grin plastered onto her face, I knew that she wasn’t really upset. As usual, she wasn’t affected by the gravity of the situation, and was trying her best to get me to laugh and feel better.
She climbed into the back with him, and I slipped into the driver’s seat. The returning trip was quiet at first, but I welcomed the silence. I was just waiting for Nyx to start up again. She could never stay quiet for very long.
“Do you think he’s homeless?” she randomly asked me. If she hadn’t been in the back, I would have given her a look, but I didn’t want to make running people over a new hobby.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Well,” she said, “that road you hit him on… Besides Fable’s three cousins, nobody lives anywhere
near there. And I don’t know about you, but this guy doesn’t look like a redhead to me.”
“That doesn’t make him homeless,” I told her. “Look at his clothes. They look almost new. And besides, what would a beggar be doing out in the wilderness?”
“Then what do you think he was doing out there?”
I didn’t say anything for a while. “Why should we care what he was doing? He was probably out camping or something, and got lost. It doesn’t really matter anyway. As soon as I drop him off, I’m going to pretend that this night never happened.”
“Unless you get arrested for it, of course.”
“Shut it,” I snapped, becoming nervous at the thought.
“Relax,” she said. “I’ll bail you out. It’s what friends are for.” This didn’t comfort me.
Trying to change the subject, I told her to try the phone again. “Nothing,” she murmured, hanging it up. The next twenty minutes or so went on like that, with Nyx showering me with odd questions I had no answers to while we tried to get the phone working. We actually made it to the hospital before the phone started working. It finally got a signal once we were sitting in a parking spot, but at that point, it was too late for it to be of any use.
The doctors immediately took the boy in, wanting to check for any injuries that I might have missed, and I was left to talk to the short lady behind the desk. She was mousy, with distrusting eyes. She handed me a bunch of papers that I had to fill out, but the task didn’t take as long as I originally thought it would.
“Can I ask you a quick question?” I asked, handing her the papers back. “Can I check on him before I leave?” I couldn’t help but think that it would be rude for me to just drop him off and leave him.
After a moment of visible hesitation, the woman nodded and told me yes, I could see him.
Nyx and I were led to his room by a kind nurse, who left once we went inside. It was a stereotypical, generic hospital room. The boy, whom had been deemed physically healthy besides a few bruises and scrapes, was lying in the hospital bed. He was still out for the count, but he’d be free to leave once he awoke. The sign on the door told me that his name was Marshall Demerath. When we went over towards the bed, I was surprised to see another person standing next to him, a petite albino I didn’t recognize.
The albino looked up. “Who are you?”
Nyx answered for me. “She’s the chick that hit him with the car.” I winced at her bluntness, waiting for the explosion that was sure to come. If someone ran over my friend with a car, I’d be mad. Surprisingly, it never came.
The stranger’s eyes now held suspicion, but that was all. “Well at least you helped him. Most people would have probably just left him there. I’m not very happy that he got run over, but at least he’s alright now.” The stranger stood. “I’m Skylr.”
“I’m Caroline, and this is Nyx, miss,” I said.
Skylr’s eyes narrowed slightly with distaste. “I’m a boy,” he said flatly.
“Oh,” I said stupidly, blushing as Nyx started laughing. With his delicate features and shoulder-length hair, I thought he was a girl. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I get that a lot.”
There was a moment of silence before I said, “Well, my friend and I better get going. I’m truly sorry about all of this, and I’ll help pay off any medical bills that came from this.”
Skylr nodded. “I’ll tell him that when he wakes up. Here,” he said, looking around the room for a piece of paper. He found one of the hospital’s business cards, and he quickly scribbled some numbers onto it with a pen. Where that came from, I wasn’t sure. “It’s my number,” he told me, handing the card over. “I’m pretty sure I can get yours from the paperwork they probably made you fill out. I get the feeling that we’re going to have to keep in touch.” He smiled like he knew something I didn’t.
After that exchange, Nyx and I left the hospital and got into the car. She leaned over and whispered, “Did you see his eyes?”
“Whose, Skylr’s?”
“Yeah.”
I shook my head. “No, why?”
“They didn’t match.” This fact seemed to excite her. “One was green, and the other was pink,” she told me.
“I heard that having red or pink for an eye color was totally normal for albinos.” Then another thought struck me. “Why were you staring at his eyes?” It hadn’t been that noticeable, had it?
She smiled widely and shrugged. “He was cute.”
Sighing with slight annoyance, I started to drive away. “I thought you said that the black-haired boy was cute. Marshall, I think.”
“No, I said he was hot. You’re a girl; you should know there’s a difference. Besides, I’d rather hang out with someone like Skylr than someone who resembles a living corpse any day.”
“Why are we friends?” I asked.
Sam Craig
Poem
Excitement
A sudden burst; a light
Radiance, hues of orange
And red
The tease; the bite
Building, building, building
Up
Bittersweet and scurrying
Sour and potent
Sharp, so sharp
Like the wind in winter
Like the corner of paper
Like the tip of a tooth
Pristine and new
The subtle quaking
Slight shake of
The body
A shudder; a breath
Grins and leers
Rushing
The worry, worry, worry
As palm meets palm
The rubbing, rubbing, rubbing
Damp, warm, and
Fuzzy
The discovery, adventure
Awaiting
Pleasing, pleasing, pleasing
Them
A flash of red
Red like Tuesday
A yellow
The yellow of Sunday
The snap, snap, snap
The smell like sweet ashes
Burnt wood and rich cherry pie
The tang
The nip, the nibble
The burst of laughter
Contagious, fabricating indifference
Sam Craig
First Lines
Away
I sat quietly at the back of the classroom. Nobody looked my way, which was fine by me. I glanced anxiously at the clock. It ticked and ticked and ticked away, showing only a minute before the tardy bell rang. I glanced around the room, noting the other students as they took their places at their seats. I was on the edge of my own when the bell rang. He came strolling hurriedly into the room with his wavy hair all mussed and dark blue shirt rumpled. He moved towards me; his hazel eyes lacking luster. That’s when I felt my world stop.
Roland had a dark purple bruise shadowing his eye and a lighter one coloring his jaw. My entire body stiffened as I glanced around the room to see if anyone noticed. There were a few kids who did, but Roland ignored them. The others, I supposed, were just used it. He started walking towards me; carrying his books away from his body. I got the uneasy feeling impression that the bruises on his face weren’t the only ones. He kept his eyes cast downward as he maneuvered around the desks in front of him. When he lightly bumped into the corner of one, he winced. Finally, he lowered himself into the seat beside me.
I let out a breath slowly as I found that I could breathe again. Roland sighed quietly beside me, but he said nothing. He’d been avoiding me all day. I knew why now, but I still spent the entire day trying to convince myself that he was just in a bad mood. I glanced over at him. He was bouncing both of his knees up and down from the tips of his toes, he head was lowered with his hair falling into his eyes, his shoulders were tense, and his arms were stiff even as he tapped the desk over and over again with his index fingers. He was antsy and ready to bolt. I reached over and placed a hand onto his shoulder. He stilled beneath it and his breath caught. Rol
and tilted his head to look up at me with slightly narrowed eyes. I opened my mouth, about to say something, but he stopped me with the slightest shake of his head.
I frowned, pulled my hand away and turned back into my seat. I cast another glance at him to see him return to the position he was in before. A burst of emotion surged within me. I noticed some kids looking over at him, so I glared at them until they looked away. It didn’t take them long to avert their eyes. Near the front of the class a book was dropped. It hit the floor with a loud smack that seem to echo around the room. From the corner of my eye I saw Roland flinch. I tightened my hands into fists and resisted the urge to snap at the kid who dropped the book. To his credit, the guy did swear loudly enough to get reprimanded by the teacher. As he walked into the room, the chatter died down and it was then I noticed the turn in their seats and the nods and glances. I ground my teeth together. It was always like this, but I still acted the same. I tried to imagine if I were one of them; would I look and whisper about the bruised boy and his friend too? I felt sick thinking about it. Class finally began and it pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I wasn’t focused, though, because the entire period I flicked sidelong glances Roland’s way.
At last the final bell rang. Everyone gathered their stuff and swarmed out the door, leaving Roland and I close to the last people out of the room. I was ahead of him, making sure to look behind me periodically to make sure he was still following me. I felt rushed, like I needed to get him somewhere fast. I wanted to know what happened. Of course, I already knew what did, but I wanted to know how. Was this time different than any of the others? I didn’t want him to have to tell me, though. I hated watching his expressions. I shot a look behind me and froze. All I saw was Roland’s back as he strolled away from me. I lunged after him, grabbing his shirt to pull him back. His body stiffened and I instantly regretted my choice.
“I’m just going to go put my stuff into my locker.” He huffed at me, not turning to look at me. Slowly I receded from him. As soon as I let go he was off, walking away from me. Worry worked its way into my mind. He walked with his body low, trying to draw as little attention as possible. Gritting my teeth, I turned on my heel and found my own locker. I threw all I didn’t need into it, then I yanked out the things I did. I stuffed them into my bag, swung it over my shoulder, and started looking for Roland, hoping that he didn’t take off without me. To my surprise and relief, I found him walking back towards me. Still, his head was down, shoulders low, with his books under his arm, but still slightly away from his body. I met him halfway, but he brushed past me and kept going. I followed him out of the building, warding off all people who came too close to him.
The sun hit my face, making me squint. It lit up Roland’s hair, showing the bold streaks of blonde in it. He cocked his head to the side to see if I was behind him; the he looked back in front of him. With too long strides I made myself even with him. I cleared my throat, but he grunted and shook his head. I sighed, and said something anyway.
“You keep walking like that and you’ll get a bad back.”
“Can’t be worse than the dirty looks.” He replied. Though, he did straighten his shoulders a little. Instead of nagging him further, I offered him to come to my house. “My parents are gone, so you won’t have to worry about any of that.” I said quietly. My parents had never liked Roland. In fact, they never liked anyone who wasn’t part of our family or really, anyone who wasn’t Jewish like us. He didn’t reply, but when we got to the fork in the road where it led to either his or my home, he took the one leading to mine. I let out a sigh of relief. We didn’t speak the whole time walking to my place. When we got to my drive, he hesitated slightly. I knew he was looking to make sure my parents weren’t home. Or maybe he was feeling like he didn’t belong. We were a wealthier family with an elegant house setting. Finally, he moved again, walking slowly up to it. We reached the door and he stepped to the side so that I could open it. I let us both in. As soon as I closed the door I dropped my bag and turned towards him. “Tell me.” I said.
“It’s nothing new Luke.” He said with a look to the side. “It’s the same as always.” I grimaced. Roland’s mother died when he was twelve. His father started to become abusive afterwards, drinking heavily and then taking out his grief onto his son. “Let me see.” I said next. He started to shake his head. I crossed my arms and waited. Defeated, he laid his books down and tugged his shirt up over his head. I sucked in a quick breath as my eyes widened. Purple and blue bruises covered Roland’s torso and snaked around to his back. He had a white wrap around his ribs, as if he’d tried to make it less severe by hiding part of the beating. I took a step forward and reached out a hand, but Roland stepped back. In one swift motion he had his shirt back on. He looked away from me, unwilling to meet my eyes. “You can’t go home.” I told him. “Your parents….” He started, but I interrupted. “It’ll be fine, just…just stay here.” He was quiet for a moment before nodding. I relaxed slightly. With him here, at least his father won’t be able to hurt him further. The rest of the night Roland and I stayed in my room. When my parents came home, I didn’t tell them about Roland, and since he stayed in my room they didn’t find out. I went downstairs to make a show of eating so they wouldn’t try to bring anything up to me. Before leaving the kitchen I grabbed a large piece of bread to give to Roland. When I got back to my room I found him curled up on my bed. Smiling a little, I covered him up, turned off my light, and went to bed myself.
Roland was gone the next morning. I found a small note on my bed with the words “I’m sorry” printed on them. I stared at the words long and hard before I realized he was actually gone. Did he go back to his house? I wondered, but I shook my head at the thought. He went somewhere else, I decided. There’s a woods near his house he always seemed interested in. That’s when it dawned on me. He was going to run away. I emptied my bag, filled it with random clothes, and ran out of the house. I ran to those woods with all I had in me. When I reached it, I was aching and panting heavily. To my joy I saw the outline of Roland, walking away from me. I called out his name. He froze, and slowly turned. I caught up to him, looped and arm around his shoulder, and asked how he thought I’d let him run off on his own. He laughed, and then the two of us turned away from it all and began walking. Where were we going? I wasn’t sure and neither was Roland, but away certainly was better than nowhere.
Samantha Craig
Somniatus
(Dream)
The morning air is crisp and cool against my skin. I breathe in deeply, smiling faintly against the fresh scent of autumn. I feel the heavy weight of my backpack on my left shoulder, reminding me that I am not outside to enjoy the weather, but in fact I am waiting for my bus. The thought of school puts a damper on my morning; tainting it slightly and making the air not so enjoyable. In the distance I hear the low hum and screech of a bus. I groan to myself because it’s not long before that sound will be occurring right in front of me.
I don’t really live in the middle of nowhere, I just happen to live amongst cornfields that separate my home from other houses. It isn’t that bad, really. When the corn is up, like it is now, it creates something similar to a gate around my house. They’ll be taking the fields down soon, though, so that closure will be gone. I sigh quietly. I hear the bus approaching, so I stand up straight and take a step towards the road. I see the headlights now, and wait as the bus pulls up to a stop in front of me. Trying to not be so glum, I walk around the front and board it. Not many kids get on before me, so I basically have the choice of where I want to go. I walk to the end of the bus and slide into a seat, propping my backpack beside me more out of habit rather than trying to keep people from sitting beside me. As I place my phone in my bag’s first pocket, I stop. I get a tiny vision, almost like a memory, of a boy. I frown, and then realize that I’m remembering part of my dream from last night. I hold the thought, trying to remember more about this random figure that’s in my mind. I remember the glint of teeth, the red o
f blood, and random places; my bedroom, outside by a tree, my living room, and so on. None of it makes sense. I smile softly to myself. Dreams always intrigue me; especially the ones you can’t remember fully.
The bus ride is long and nearly uneventful, until we stop at a house we normally don’t stop at. Curious, other kids sit up straighter in their seats to get a look at the new kid. I keep my eyes out the window, not really interested. I hear them board, but still, I don’t look up. That is, until they are sitting right beside me, shoving my backpack against me. Eyes wide in surprise, I look at the newcomer. I’m so focused on his hair that I nearly miss the apologetic smile curving one side of his lips. I stare, mesmerized by the bright, striking red of his hair. It’s slightly mussed, as if he’d run his hand through it repeatedly. I glance down at his mouth as it displayed flawless white teeth. Completely taken aback by this beautiful boy in front of me, I just look at him dumbfounded. He grins then, showing more of his pristine ivories.
“Like what you see?” He purrs. My mouth parts in surprise as my cheeks heat up. I look him in the eyes, suddenly jolted by their appearance. Is anything about this guy normal? His eyes are silver; not like the gray color of clouds about to burst with rain, but like a real, silver color. They’re incandescent, like the moon is in the sky on a dark, dark night. I look away from him, slightly annoyed. He chuckles low, making me clench my fists. Then, I feel him lean towards me. I stiffen and don’t move. His breath is warm under my ear. He breathes in, as if he’s trying to suck out my soul. He holds it for a moment before letting it out with a soft sigh. “You smell better when you’re awake.” He murmurs. What the hell? I snap my head in his direction. He withdraws just in time. Our noses are centimeters apart. He meets my eyes with his odd ones. He winks and draws one side of his mouth up into a crooked smile. My eyes flash down to his teeth, just in time to see them catch a bit of light and glint at me. I snap my gaze back up to his face, but he’s pulling away now. He scoots, scoots, scoots until he’s at the edge of the bus seat.
Then, he pulls out a novel. I can’t see what it is in the dark of the bus, then I wonder how it is he plans to read it. I press myself to the window, my heart beginning to pound. Am I dreaming? Who the hell is this guy? He tosses a glance at me, sees me looking at him, and tilts his head to the side with a grin. All I see are the whites of his teeth, the glow of his eyes, and the rusty red the dark depicts of his hair. He goes back to his novel, casting all of his focus onto the pages. I swallow nervously, and look around the bus. No one seems to be trying to get a look at the boy beside me. I reach over for my backpack that’s fallen in front of the seat beside the boy’s knees, but am startled when his hand shoots out to grab my wrist. I suck in a breath and look at him, realizing then and there that I should be having some serious issues with this guy. Instead, though, besides the pound of my heart and confusion, I have no feelings of panic or anxiety. He smirks, his lips peeling back slightly to reveal a sliver of white, and shakes his head. His hand slides from my wrist until he opens my palm. I want to look at what he’s doing, but instead I am transfixed by the unusual gleam to his eyes. I hear a soft crackle noise as he opens his hand within mine and presses a piece of paper to my palm. He withdraws his hand and goes back to his book. Swallowing, I bring the note up and uncurl it. I squint at it in the dim lighting until I make out the words.
“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”
Frowning, I look at the boy. He meets my gaze and cocks his head to one side, waiting for me to say something. Slowly, I shake my head. “I don’t know-” I begin, but he cuts me off. Book resting on his lap, he slides himself next me; knee to knee, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder, nose to cheek. I freeze; much like how I did the first time he got close to me. He tips his face up, so that his mouth is level with my ear. His teeth graze my earlobe and I shiver. “Try to remember your dreams.” He whispers into my ear. I glance around frantically, nervous of whom might be seeing this, but nobody is looking. Odd, I think. He gestures out the window, where all it really is is a rush of darkness and blurred landscape. His breath still in my ear, he mutters, “Illusion is the first of all pleasures.” I lower my chin, “I don’t understand.” But really, I think I might. Oscar Wilde, he’s quoting Oscar Wilde. Now I turn my head. As I do, he pulls back slightly away from my body. He’s still close, so close I can feel the heat of his body. His face and mine are barely inches apart now. I study him, and that figure I remembered earlier comes to mind. Is this him? Is this guy from one of my dreams? I narrow my eyes. Is this some kind of joke? Even as I press myself back into the window I think it isn’t. Somehow I know this boy. He’s so familiar, but yet, so different. It’s like when you have a word or a name on the tip of your tongue, just right there, so close, but yet so far away. He opens his mouth, about to say something, when a ringing sound startles us both. Bewildered, he pulls away from me and pats his pockets frantically. He pulls out a phone, and quickly answers it. I stare at him in wonder. He lowers his voice so that I can’t hear any of his curt replies. I’m confused, and I kind of want to say something. The boy meets my eyes again. He flashes me a quick, quick, smile, so quick that I didn’t see his teeth. He opens his book and scrawls something along the inside cover. Then, he pulls up my bag and unzips the first little pocket. He deposits the book into it, zips it up, places the bag beside me and him, and stands up just as the bus comes to a stop.
He leans his thin body against the seat in front of him for support before striding down the aisle. Right before he exits the bus, he finds me, tilts his head to the side, grins wickedly, and winks. Then he’s gone, gone, gone. In an instant I’m unzipping that first pocket and pulling out his book. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. My breath catches. I flip the cover open and read what’s written in his soft scrawl.
I’m in your dreams; I’m always in your dreams. “They’ve promised that dreams can come true – but forget to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.” Do not fret, for I’ll see you again. I’ll also show you a sweet dream, next night.
