The Year's Best Dark Fantasy & Horror, 2015 Edition

by Paula Guran

  It started slow, quiet even. Like a humming deep in his skull. Then it grew and the humming became a strange vibrating cry, somewhere between a roar and a scream. Finally, when it crescendoed, he couldn’t even have said what it sounded like. It was all sounds, at once, so loud that he burst out in a sob, hands going to his ears as he doubled over.

  His mother caught him and held him and rubbed his back and said it would be okay, it would all be okay, Gran was in a better place now. Yet the dragons kept screaming until he pushed her aside and ran from the hospital room. He ran and he ran until he was out some back door, in a tiny yard. Then he collapsed, hugging his knees as he listened to the dragons.

  That’s what he did—he listened. He didn’t try to block them, to stop them. This was what he’d dreamed of and now he had it, and it was horrible and terrible and incredible all at once. He hunkered down there, committing them to memory as methodically as he had the dreams of golden palaces and endless meadows. Finally, when they faded, he went back inside, snuffling and gasping for breath, his face streaked with tears. His parents found him like that, grieving they thought, and it was what they wanted to see, proof that he was just a normal little boy, and they were, in their own grief, happy.

  He waited until three days after the funeral to broach the subject of Cainsville. He would have liked to have waited longer, but it was already April 27, and he’d given great thought to the exact timing—how late could he wait before it was too late to plan a May Day trip? April 27 seemed right.

  After he’d gone to bed, he slipped back out and found his parents in the living room, reading. He stood between them and cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Bobby?” his mother said, lowering her book.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Natalie’s so upset about Gran. We all are, of course, but Natalie most of all.”

  His mother sighed. “I know.”

  “So I was thinking of ways to cheer her up.”

  As he expected, this was about the best thing he could have said. His mother’s eyes lit up and his father lowered his newspaper.

  “It’s May Day this weekend,” Bobby said. “I know Natalie thinks Cainsville is boring, but she always liked May Day.”

  “That’s true.” His mother snuck a glance at his father. “Last year, she asked if we were going before Bobby did.”

  “I thought we might go,” he said. “For Natalie.”

  His father smiled and reached to rumple Bobby’s hair. “That’s a fine idea, son. I believe we will.”

  Rose knew what he’d done. He saw it in her eyes as he walked over to her and Hannah, cutting flowers before the May Day festivities began. Rose saw him coming and straightened fast, fixing him with those pale blue eyes. Then she laid her hand on Hannah’s shoulder, as if ready to tug her friend away.

  Hannah looked up at Rose’s touch. She saw him and grinned, a bright sunshine grin, as she rose and brushed off the bare knees under her short, flowered dress. Rose kept hold of her friend’s shoulder, though, and squeezed. Hannah hesitated.

  He stopped short. Then he glanced to the side, pretending he’d heard someone call his name, an excuse to walk away. He headed toward one of the elders, setting out pies. The pie table was close enough for him to hear the girls.

  Rose spoke first. “I had a dream about Bobby,” she whispered.

  Hannah giggled. “He is kind of cute.”

  “Not like that.”

  Hannah went serious. “You mean one of those dreams?”

  “I don’t know. There were dragons.”

  He stiffened and stood there, blueberry pie in hand, straining to listen to the girls behind him.

  “Dragons?” Hannah said.

  “He was hunting them.”

  “I bet they were gargoyles. He’s really good at finding them. He has twice as many as I do, and he doesn’t even live here.”

  “He killed one,” Rose said.

  “A gargoyle?”

  “A dragon. An old one. She was blocking his way, and he fed her foxglove flowers, and she started to scream.”

  His stomach twisted so suddenly that he doubled over, the elder grabbing his arm to steady him, asking if he was all right, and he said yes, quickly, pushing her off as politely as he could and taking another pie from the box as he struggled to listen.

  “That’s one freaky dream, Rosie,” Hannah was saying.

  “I know.”

  “I think it just means he’s going to win the gargoyle contest.”

  “Probably, but it felt like . . . ” Rose drifted off. “No, I’m being stupid.”

  “You’re never stupid. You just think too much sometimes.”

  Rose chuckled. “My mom says the same thing.”

  “Because she’s smart, like you. Now, let’s go ask if Bobby wants to come see Mattie.”

  The tap-tap of fancy shoes. Then a finger poked his back.

  “Bobby?”

  He turned to Hannah, smiling at him.

  “We’re glad you came,” she said. “We missed you.”

  He nodded.

  “It’s not time for the festival yet. Do you want to come see Mattie?”

  “That’s what she named the kitten,” Rose said, walking up behind her friend. “Short for matagot.”

  “No, short for Matthew.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

  Hannah pretended to swat her, then put her arm through Bobby’s. As she did, Rose tensed and rocked forward, like she wanted to pull Hannah away. She stopped herself, but fixed him with that strange look. Like she knew what he’d done. With that look, he knew Rose had a power, like Hannah. And him? He had nothing except taunting dreams of castles and meadows, and the screams of dragons, fading so fast he could barely remember the sound at all.

  “Smile, Bobby,” Hannah said, squeezing his arm. “It’s May Day, and we’re going to have fun.” She grinned. “We’ll always have fun together.”

  He won the gargoyle hunt that year. The next year, too. They went to Cainsville for all the festivals and sometimes he and his mother just went to visit. Life was good, and not just because Gran was dead and he’d gotten Cainsville back, but because he’d learned a valuable lesson. He did not have powers. He would likely never have them. But he did have a power inside him—the screams of dragons.

  He would admit that when he killed his grandmother, he thought he’d suffer for it. He’d be caught and even if he wasn’t, it would be as Father Joseph preached—he would be forever damned in the prison of his own mind, tormented by his sins. Father Joseph had lied. Or, more likely, he simply didn’t understand boys like Bobby.

  No one ever suspected anything but a natural death, and his life turned for the better after that. He learned how to win his parents’ sympathy if not their love. To turn them, just a little, to his side, away from the Gnat. He learned, too, how to deal with her. That took longer and started at school, with other children, the ones who bullied and taunted him.

  He decided to show those children why he should not be bullied or taunted. One by one, he showed them. Little things for some, like spoiling a lunch every day. Bigger things for others. With one boy, he loosened the seat on his bike, and he fell and hit his head on the curb and had to go away, people whispering that he’d never be quite right again.

  Bobby took his revenge, and then let the boys know it was him, and when they tattled, he cried and pretended he didn’t know what was happening, why they were accusing him—they’d always hated him, always mocked and beat him, and the teachers knew that was true, and his tears and his lies were good enough to convince them that he was the victim. Each time he won, he would hear the dragons scream again, and he’d know he’d done well.

  Once he’d perfected his game, he played it against the Gnat. For her eighth birthday, their parents gave her a pretty little parakeet that she adored. One day, after she’d called him a monster and scratched him hard enough to draw blood, he warned that she shouldn’t let the bird fly about, it might fly
right out the door.

  “I’m not stupid,” she said. “I don’t open the doors when she’s out.” She paused, then scowled at him. “And you’d better not either.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. And the next time she let the bird out, he lured it with treats to his parents room, where the window was open, just enough.

  He even helped her search for her bird. Then she discovered the open window.

  “You did it!” she shouted.

  She rushed at him, fingers like claws, scratching down his arm. He howled. His parents came running. The Gnat pointed at the window.

  “Look what he did. He let her out!”

  His father cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I left that open, sweetheart.”

  “You shouldn’t have let the bird out of her cage,” his mother said, steering The Gnat off with promises of ice cream. “You know we warned you about that.”

  The Gnat turned to him. He smiled, just for a second, just enough to let her know. Then he joined them in the kitchen where his mother gave him extra ice cream for being so nice and helping his little sister hunt for her bird.

  The Gnat wasn’t that easily cowed. She only grew craftier. Six months later, their parents bought her another parakeet. She kept it in its cage and warned him that if it escaped, they’d all know who did it. He told her to be nicer to him and that wouldn’t be a problem. She laughed. Three months later, she came home from school to find her bird lying on the floor of its cage, dead. His parents called it a natural death. The Gnat knew better, and after that, she stayed as far from him as she could.

  While his life outside Cainsville improved, his visits to the town darkened, as if there was a finite amount of good in his life, and to shift more to one place robbed it from the other.

  He blamed Rose. After her dream of the dragon, she’d been nicer to him, apparently deciding it had been no more than a dream. Unlike Hannah’s power, Rose’s came in fits and starts, mingling prophecy and fantasy.

  But then, after he did particularly bad things back home—like loosening the bike seat or killing the bird—he’d come to Cainsville and she’d stare at him, as if trying to peer into his soul. After a few times, she seemed to decide that where there were dragons, there was fire, and if she was having these dreams, they meant something. Something bad.

  Rose started avoiding him. Worse, she made Hannah do the same. He’d come to town and they’d be off someplace and no one knew where to find them—not until it was nearly time for him to go, and they’d appear, and Rose would say, “Oh, are you leaving? So sorry we missed you.”

  Soon, it wasn’t just Rose looking at him funny. All the elders did. Still, Mrs. Yates stuck by him, meeting him each time he visited, taking him for walks. Only now her questions weren’t quite so gentle. Is everything all right, Bobby? Are you sure? Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything at all?

  It didn’t help that he’d begun doing things even he knew were wrong. It wasn’t his fault. The dreams of golden castles and endless meadows had begun to fade when he’d turned nine. It did not directly coincide with the first screams of the dragons, but it was close enough that he’d suspected there was a correlation. Even when he stopped tormenting his tormenters, and let the screams of dragons ebb, the dreams of the golden world continued to fade, until he was forced to accept that it was simply the passing of time. As he aged, those childish fancies slid away, and all he had left were the dragons. So he indulged them. Fed them well and learned to delight in their screams as much as he had those pretty dreams.

  There were times when he swore he could hear his grandmother’s voice in his ear, calling him a nasty boy, a wicked boy. And when he did, he would smile, knowing he was feeding the dragons properly. But they took much feeding, and it wasn’t long before no one tormented him and there were no worthy targets for his wickedness. He had to find targets and, increasingly, they were less worthy, until finally, by the time he turned twelve, many were innocent of any crime against him. But the dragons had to be fed.

  That summer, his mother took him to Cainsville two days after he’d done something particularly wicked, particularly cruel, and when he arrived at the new diner, the elders were not there. Even Mrs. Yates was gone. He’d walked to her house and then to the schoolyard, where they sometimes sat and watched the children play. He found her there, with the others, as a group of little ones played tag.

  When she saw him, she’d risen, walked over and said he should go to the new diner and have a milkshake and she’d meet him there later. She’d even given him three dollars for the treat. But he’d looked at the children, and he’d looked at her, standing between him and the little ones, guarding them against him, and he’d let the three bills fall to the ground and stalked off to talk to Rose.

  He found her at her one brother’s place. Rose was the youngest. A “whoops” everyone said, and he hadn’t known what that meant until he was old enough to understand where babies came from and figured out that she’d been an accident, born when her mother was nearly fifty. This brother was twenty-nine, married, with a little girl of his own. That’s where Rose was—babysitting her niece.

  Bobby snuck around back and found the little girl playing in a sandbox. She couldn’t be more than three, thin with black hair. He watched her and considered all the ways he could repay Rose for her treachery.

  “What are you doing here?” a low voice came from behind him. He turned to see Rose, coming out of the house with a sipping cup and a bottle of Coke. Like Mrs. Yates, she moved between him and the child. Then she leaned over and whispered, “Take this and go inside, Seanna. I’ll be there in a minute, and we’ll read a book together.”

  She handed the little girl the sipping cup and watched her toddle off. Then she turned to him. “Why are you here, Bobby?”

  “I want to know what you told the elders about me.”

  “About you?” Her face screwed up. “Nothing. Why?”

  He stepped toward her. “I know you told them something.”

  She stood her ground, chin lifting, pale eyes meeting his. “Is there something to tell?”

  “No.”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  She started to turn away. He grabbed her elbow. She threw him off fast, dropping the bottle and not even flinching when it shattered on the paving stones.

  “I didn’t tell anyone anything,” she said. “I don’t have anything to tell.”

  “Bull. I’ve seen the way you look at me, and now they’re doing it, too.”

  “Maybe because we’re all wondering what’s wrong. Why you’ve changed. You used to be a scared little boy, and now you’re not, and that would be good, but there’s this thing you do, staring at people with this expression in your eyes and . . . ” She inhaled. “I didn’t tell the elders anything.”

  “Yes, you did. You had a vision about me. A fake vision. And you told.”

  “No, I didn’t. Now, I can’t leave Seanna alone—”

  He grabbed her wrist, fingers digging in as he wrenched her back to face him. “Tell me.”

  She struggled in his grip. “Let me—”

  He slapped her, so hard her head whipped around, and when it whipped back, there was a snarl on her lips. She kicked and clawed, and he released her fast, stepping back. She hit him then. Like a boy. Plowed him in the jaw and when he fell, she stood over him and bent down.

  “You ever hit me again, Bobby Sheehan, and I’ll give you a choice. Either you’ll confess it to the elders or I’ll thrash you so hard you’ll wish you had confessed. I didn’t tattle on you. Now leave me alone.”

  “You think you’re so special,” he called as she climbed the back steps. “You and your second sight.”

  “Special?” She gave a strange little laugh, and when she turned, she looked ten years older. “No, Bobby Sheehan, I don’t think I’m special. Most times, I think I’m cursed. I know you’re jealous of us, with our powers, but you wouldn’t want them. Not for a second. It ch
anges everything.” She glanced down at him, still on the ground. “Be happy with what you have.”

  He was not happy with what he had. As the year passed, he became even less happy with it, more convinced that Rose and the elders were spying on him from afar. Spying on his thoughts. This was not paranoia. Twice, after he’d done something moderately wicked, his mother got a call at work. Once from Mrs. Yates and once from Rose’s mother.

  “Just asking how you are,” his mother said over dinner after the second call. She slid him a secret smile. “I think Rose might be sweet on you. She seems like a nice girl.”

  “Her family’s not nice,” the Gnat said as she took a forkful of meatloaf. “Her one brother’s in jail.”

  His mother looked over sharply. “No, he isn’t. He’s in the army. Don’t spread nasty gossip—”

  “It’s not gossip. I heard it in town. He’s in jail for fraud, and so was Rose’s dad, for a while, years ago, and no one thinks there’s anything weird about that. I overheard someone say the whole family is into stuff like that. They’re con artists. Only the people saying it acted like it was a regular job.” She scrunched up her freckled nose. “Isn’t that freaky? The whole town is—”

  “Enough,” his mother said. “I think someone’s pulling your leg, young lady. There is nothing wrong with Rose Walsh or her family. They’re fine people.”

  For once, he believed the Gnat. He’d wondered about Rose’s brother ever since he took off a few years ago and Rose said he’d joined the army to fight in Vietnam, but he’d been over thirty, awfully old to sign up.