Shadows Burned In

by Chris Pourteau

  No.

  “They’re too busy arguing,” it said. “We can ride in Rheanna—”

  “I said no!” Elizabeth shouted it out loud, a ringing echo in her sanctuary that drowned out the mumbling, heated voices from the other room. She put her fists to her temples, hoping the pressure would drive out the demon voice tempting her to do what she knew she shouldn’t. Seeing no other option, she was about to put the pillow over her head again when she heard the scraping at the window. It was a quiet, shy sound, and it spooked her. She turned slowly

  (don’t bother, monsters can still see you)

  and stared at the glass. The glare of the streetlight sliced through the window. The automatic shading for the window was turned off, so only clear glass separated her from whatever had made the sound. The curtains hung to either side as if framing a stage, ready to show her—what?

  The scraping came again, this time a little louder. There was another specter arm, elongated by the streetlight, reaching up to the window. It made its scratching noise again and was gone. Never taking her eyes off the window, Elizabeth curled up very slowly into a fetal position.

  (he sees you when you’re sleeping)

  She bunched her fists under her chin and held her arms in close. Again the scrape came, louder than ever, and then a larger image—a head—moved behind the glass. She almost screamed when it noticed her. Did it smile?

  (he knows when you’re awake)

  “If you can’t go to Mallus, maybe Mallus has come to you,” her 3V voice said.

  Shut up.

  “Or sent a Wolf Rider to do his bidding.”

  Shut up!

  (he knows when you’ve been bad or good)

  But this wasn’t 3V.

  This was real.

  And there was no such thing as Mallus or Wolf Riders in the real world. There were no Companions, no enemy army. The thought reassured Elizabeth for a moment, then pained her with its truth. How often had she wished that Rheanna could be her real world and that she never had to come back to this one? How many times had she been willing to take on Mallus instead of her father? How much easier would that battle have been?

  But perhaps it was possible, somehow. Perhaps Mallus—the Dark King, the First Enemy—had come for her. All the way from Rheanna to her sanctuary.

  (so be good, for goodness sake)

  But if that was true, then it was also true that if she were Elsbyth in the world of 3V, then she could be Elsbyth in this world too. And Elsbyth wasn’t afraid of Mallus. He had killed Ulaemeth, her beloved. And she would cleave Mallus with her sword for stealing him away from her.

  “Um, what sword?” asked her 3V voice.

  Then I will use my hands, Elizabeth thought, and she no longer feared the shadow at the window. She uncurled her body slowly, less prey and more cat, now. The sweat from her fear soaked into the comforter as she moved over the bed. Quickly, her hands were dry.

  All the better to strangle you with, she thought.

  Elizabeth positioned herself below the window. The next time the sound came, she would find its source. And strangle Mallus, the Murderer of Ulaemeth.

  She reached up and unlocked the sliding-glass window, then coiled both hands close to her chest like whips. And she waited. Since there was no screen, the trap would be easy to spring.

  When the rapping came again, she sprang straight upward, whipping the window open with her left hand. She grabbed Mallus by his shirt and yanked him hard against the outside of the house. The Dark King’s groan of pain was very satisfying. Still, he felt way lighter than she’d expected

  (spirit bodies are not heavy)

  as she pulled his face into the slanting light, eye-to-eye with her.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” shrieked Mallus.

  “EEEEEEEAAAAA!” screamed Elsbyth, Warrior-Queen of Rheanna.

  “Elizabeth?”

  Michael’s voice was relieved, embarrassed, and excited, all at the same time.

  “You’re not Mallus,” Elizabeth said.

  “No,” said Michael hesitantly, as if internally debating that perhaps he could be Mallus, if that’s what Elizabeth wanted him to be.

  “Well,” began Elizabeth, her voice indignant, “what the hell are you doing at my window at ten o’clock at night?”

  “Um, well,” he began hesitantly, and then it spilled out of him all at once: “I thought you might be feeling a little bad about what happened in school today, so I waited till my parents thought I was asleep and I climbed out my window and came over here and rapped on your window hoping to get a chance to see you and I thought I could maybe make you feel better.”

  Elizabeth was impressed that he got all that out considering she still had him pressed chest-first against the windowsill. Her first impulse—on a day when everyone except perhaps the homeless man in Old Suzie’s house had seemed out to get her—was to kiss Michael for riding to her rescue. But then that scared her more than the thought of finding a real Mallus at her window ever had, so instead she released him and heard a satisfying crunch of leaves as the boy’s weight settled on them.

  “What’d you have in mind?” she asked innocently.

  Michael ducked his head.

  “I dunno. I just wanted to make you feel better.”

  Inwardly Elizabeth smiled, though she kept her face neutral, in case he could see her despite the night. “I know someplace we can go.”

  Michael brightened. “Really, where?”

  She placed her knee on the low bookshelf below her window and started climbing up to the sill. “You’ll see,” she said, climbing over to drop out the other side onto the cool grass.

  Elizabeth led him along the side of her house to the street. She tried to stay out of the streetlight as much as she could, in case anyone happened to be looking out their window. A neighbor’s dog barked at their passing, and the two of them froze. After a moment, Elizabeth motioned Michael to follow her, and they were off again and made their way calmly down the street. They walked in silence for a while. Elizabeth seemed to be somewhere else, and Michael hesitated to say anything for fear of saying The One Wrong Thing.

  “Did you get in trouble?” Michael asked finally, unable to stand the silence.

  “Course,” she said.

  “Monitor Skinner called your parents, huh?”

  “Course.”

  Her tone seemed to wonder why he would even ask such a stupid question. Michael thought he shouldn’t speak again. Everything had been going pretty well before he’d spoken. “You didn’t miss anything in class,” he said anyway. “It was really boring there without you.”

  “Really?” She looked back at him and saw the moonlight reflecting on his teeth as he grinned to himself.

  “Yes.” He whispered the word. “Debbie Maselic got three questions wrong in a row and then didn’t say anything for the rest of the day!”

  “Really? Debbie? I thought she never got a question wrong!”

  “Well, she did today,” he said brightly, glad that he’d hit upon something that pleased her. They walked along and he said, “Did your dad take away your 3V privileges again?”

  Even in the pale night he could see her shoulders slump. Stupid, stupid, stupid! his thoughts pounded him.

  “Yes,” she said heavily, “for a whole week.” Her voice had curdled in his ears again.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! He decided to try to make it better. “Only a week? That’s not too long.”

  She turned her head and vomited at him, “It’s forever in that house!”

  Stupid, stupid . . .

  Michael decided again to keep his mouth shut. Then, Elizabeth stopped. He thought she would turn on him and lay into him again. Oh God, why can’t you just keep your friggin mouth shut, Mike?

  “We’re here,” was all she said.

  He blinked, not understanding her at first. “We’re where?”

  “Here.”

  Michael turned and stared at Old Suzie’s house. “You gotta be kiddin,” he said.<
br />
  “Nope.”

  “So now what’re we supposed to do?”

  Elizabeth said, as if explaining to an infant, “We’re going in, of course!”

  Michael was horrified at the thought. Then he noticed his muscles constricting and tried to relax, to keep the fear from his face. His father had always told him not to show his emotions, especially to girls. “Oh,” was all he said.

  “You’re not afraid, are you?”

  “No, I’m not afraid!” he said a little too quickly. Michael stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at the ground, finding the gravel and other road trash quite fascinating.

  “Well, come on then,” she said, leading the way.

  He stared after her openmouthed, unable to believe this was the same girl who hadn’t wanted to go near the house just two days before. Even though he was scared, he also thought it was pretty neat that she was marching right up to the porch.

  “Okay, I’ll come along,” Michael called after her as he jogged to catch up. “You know, just to make sure you’re okay.”

  And though she didn’t really know what she was doing yet, Elizabeth fell into the familiar response that women give when they know men are playing a part because they have to or they wouldn’t be men. “That would be nice.” She said her own lines quite convincingly. “I’d feel much safer if you did.” She walked up to the porch and placed her arm on the rickety railing and waited for Michael to catch up.

  “It sure looks spooky in there,” he said. There was a small light flickering—a candle, no doubt—and Michael wondered if Old Suzie was in there getting her cauldron ready. Boiling water, vegetables, seasoning . . . only one thing missing. Oh! Here are the children now!

  “Is that what you see when you look at this old house?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Well . . . yeah. Whata you see?”

  “I saw the same thing until earlier today. But now I don’t think it’s so bad.”

  Michael stared at her. “Uh-huh.” Was she nuts?

  She stepped up onto the porch and stopped at the door. She knocked three times.

  Michael stared at her. “Why knock, unless—”

  “Shhhh,” Elizabeth said, index finger to her lips. Michael wondered why she did that. She had just knocked. But suddenly he was very worried. Maybe Old Suzie had enlisted Elizabeth in her ranks. Yeah, brainwashed her, maybe. And her assignment was to bring other kids to the house to put into her cauldron for dinner. It was Old Suzie’s revenge for all those broken windows and dare-runs through the old place. All those times they had disturbed her shows. Old people liked to can things, put them up on the shelf for eating later. She probably put canned kids up on the shelves to tide her over in the winter.

  The screen door began to creak on its hinges, and suddenly Michael’s bladder was full to bursting. Then he saw it wasn’t an old woman who answered the door at all but an old man.

  “Well, hello again!” he said to Elizabeth.

  “Hello, Rocky.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “His name’s Michael.”

  “Well, hello, Michael. Glad to meet you. Y’all come on in.”

  The old man led them inside and into the parlor. Michael looked around in wonder at the old house, as if he were passing through a ghost.

  Maybe he’s one, he thought, looking at the old man. Suzie’s run-off husband cursed to come back and haunt the house.

  A dog lay on the floor in front of the old man’s chair. She raised her eyelids, took note of who’d entered her domain, and slowly closed her eyes again, satisfied all was well.

  “You are so brave,” Michael whispered to Elizabeth. He couldn’t help himself. They were in Old Suzie’s house. Elizabeth only smiled as she sat down on the floor and the old man settled into his chair again. He’d lit a small fire in the fireplace. It was turning into a cool night.

  “So what brings you back so soon?”

  Elizabeth hesitated, though she felt she could trust him. At least he hadn’t given her a reason not to trust him. “My dad got upset because I got kicked out of class today. He revoked my 3V privileges for a week.”

  “Oh,” said the old man, nodding. “And you think that was unfair?”

  “Of course . . .” began Michael, but he stopped when he saw Elizabeth shaking her head.

  “Not really, I suppose. But a week without 3V is pretty harsh. He thinks he’s punishing me for doing poorly in school. But . . . he doesn’t understand.”

  The old man leaned forward and the firelight danced on his face. “Spoken like a million other children before you,” he said, nodding. “Including your dad, I’ll bet. So, what doesn’t he understand?”

  Elizabeth shrugged, looking at the floor.

  “It’s the place she goes when her parents fight,” said Michael. With that simple statement, all was revealed. Elizabeth felt her cheeks turning crimson at hearing the truth blurted out so clumsily. But the old man seemed not embarrassed at all.

  “Ah, now I see,” he said. “Have you talked this over with your parents?”

  Elizabeth looked at him, astonished at the notion. “Are you kidding?”

  “Hmm, I guess that would be out of the question, now wouldn’t it?” His tone was playful.

  “You don’t know her dad,” Michael said.

  “You might be surprised what I know,” said the old man, his voice heavy. Michael took it as a sign that he shouldn’t respond. Rocky continued, “So you came here to get away from your folks?”

  Elizabeth nodded, again self-conscious. When he spoke it like that, so directly, it seemed like such a trivial reason for disturbing the old man’s evening.

  “I didn’t want to come,” Michael said before he could stop himself.

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  The boy swallowed hard once, not daring a glance at Elizabeth. “I’m afraid of ghosts.”

  The old man laughed. “Is that what you think I am?” he asked seriously. “A ghost?”

  “No,” Michael said immediately, then paused and shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “He’s afraid of Old Suzie,” stated Elizabeth.

  “Am not,” said Michael, but unconvincingly.

  “Well then,” said the old man, clapping his hands together lightly, “let’s talk about Old Suzie. And ghosts.”

  Long after Susan had gone to bed, David sat in his recliner in the living room, the always-streaming Web Report on the screen. The commentators were animated as usual, but he wasn’t really looking at the numbers or listening to them. He was thinking about what Susan had said and replaying for the thousandth time in his mind how he’d handled Elizabeth’s dismissal from school. Maybe he did push her too hard. Maybe he expected too much out of her.

  Or not enough from yourself.

  “What the hell does that mean?” he asked out loud. But his brain didn’t answer.

  Why had he moved back here? And why did he get so upset when Susan asked him that question? Was it because of what she asked or the way she asked it, in that accusatory, it’s-all-your-fault tone? But—why had he moved back here?

  Web Report was interrupted by a bulletin. The prisoner who’d escaped from Huntsville still hadn’t been found. A 3-D picture of Wayne Alan Kitts flashed on the screen, and the grizzled old face had a leer to it that fit with his child-molester record. David focused on that. That was why he’d moved them here.

  Because it was a safer place. Huntsville was close to Houston, and Houston was not safe, well-to-do neighborhood or no. But maybe there was another reason. A need to come back here, plant the flag, reclaim the territory for himself.

  Maybe Susan was right about that. Maybe he’d merely been selfish by insisting they come back here. Maybe his concern for Elizabeth had just been an excuse.

  No. He loved his daughter more than his own life. He truly believed it was safer here. Or that he could make it safer here for her. That he could come back here and slay the dragon that had slept idle and ever present, breathing sulfur in t
he back of his mind for so long. And then nothing could harm her. But somehow that quest, the one he’d never even known he was on, had gotten twisted back on itself. And now his wife and daughter were pulling away from him. Leaning away from him.

  They felt safer sitting away from me. They felt the need to feel safer.

  How had things gotten so warped?

  David stood up and walked from the living room, through the hallway, and to Elizabeth’s room. He paused at her door, not wanting to wake or disturb her, staring at the Parent-Free Zone sign. He remembered how it used to be for him, his room. A base where no one could tag you to be it. That’s the way he’d always felt about it when he was a boy. But he wanted to look in on her, know she was safe in her bed. He cracked the door just a bit and, when he couldn’t see very well, finally opened it all the way. And saw the gaping window, its curtains billowing softly.

  He looked around the room again, sure he must’ve just missed her. “Light,” he said, and the overhead bulb blazed on. The room was empty. Had she run away again? His anger boiled up from inside, all his previous thoughts drowning in it. But then he noticed the bed.

  It was a disaster. The covers were a mess, as if . . . as if someone had taken her. She had struggled. They’d dragged her out the window.

  They.

  The anonymous monsters that every parent knows really exist. The ones that didn’t hide in closets. The ones that came through windows.

  What had Web Report been going on about? The escaped prisoner, Kidd or whatever his name was. Some detail was picking at David’s brain, something about . . . the fugitive’s home town?

  “Susan!” His panic overwhelmed his anger. “Susan!”

  Chapter 18

  Stumbling for the river, Wayne Alan Kitts yanked his legs away from the bull nettles and Mesquite bushes grabbing at him. He didn’t need to look back. He could already hear the dogs behind him. They wouldn’t stop, so he couldn’t either. Motivated, his hands slapped at branches. The Trinity River wasn’t far.

  His breath sounded like a blade cutting wood, lungs aching with the effort. His bones hurt with the tight grind of age. His side was splitting, so he reached down to press, relieving some of the pain. When he felt the wet, he pulled up short, brought his hand up to his face.