Here There Are Monsters

by Amelinda Bérubé

  “Yeah, I see you,” Kevin fires back. “I’ve always seen you! You’re not as good an actress as you think you are!”

  “Look,” William pleads, “I know how it sounds, okay? But we both saw them. We were both right there. This thing was standing over her like—like it was going to eat her heart. Think about it for a second. Maybe this explains everything!”

  “Does it explain why she tortured some guy? Or are you just going to ignore that?”

  “That’s beside the point,” William says doggedly. “You have to believe me. You have to. If I don’t do this—they already got Sophie. Don’t you think they know you’re here?”

  “Sophie was in a car accident, William! Her mom was there!”

  “And she said something stepped out on the road!”

  “So, what, the deer are part of this conspiracy too, now? Listen to yourself!”

  “I’m not asking you to help. Okay? I’m the only one who can do this. I know that. But I needed you to know what’s going on. What I’ve gotten you into. If I’d told Sophie—”

  “Sophie would tell you exactly what I’m telling you now. Which is no. No fucking way.”

  Kevin pushes past me.

  “Where are you going?” William calls after him.

  “I’m telling your dad what you’re up to, obviously!”

  “You can’t do that!” My voice goes shrill, beyond my control.

  “Kev,” William says, panic in every line of his face, “no, please—”

  “I have to!” Kevin shouts. “Unlike her, I actually care what happens to you!”

  I lunge after him as he’s turning away from me, seize his arm in both hands, twist it back and around so he has to face me again. I can’t marshal threats; I just stare him down, panting. But he meets my eyes steadily, not bothering to pull away.

  “What are you going to do, huh?”

  “Guys,” William says, pale-faced.

  “Are you going to drown me somewhere? Going to kick my ass? Great. That’ll be super-convincing. You lay a hand on me, and how is that going to look for you?”

  “Guys.” William drops his voice to a screaming whisper. “Kevin. Shut up.”

  Kevin opens his mouth to retort, but William puts a hand out to stop him, holds a trembling finger to his lips. A long, faint, whispering sound breaks the silence. Like a stick being dragged across the face of the house.

  “Close the door,” William hisses, “close the fucking door!”

  Even when I let him go, Kevin doesn’t budge. His eyes flick to the woods—a gray-green curtain beyond the screen door—and back to us.

  “Not funny,” he repeats. “Who the hell did you con into—”

  But he stops short as something reaches into view through the sidelight, tapping its way across the glass. Something bony, purposeful, with too many fingers spread in a thin fan. A blunt fanged skull bobs into view, staring in at us from an eyeless socket, bones showing through the feathers on its winged crown. Kevin stumbles into me, away from it.

  But all the creature does is lift the comb of ribs that forms its hand. Holds it edgewise to its muzzle in a stiff but unmistakable mockery of William’s gesture a moment ago. A whisper drifts through the screen, a languid brush against my face.

  Shhhh.

  Then, with a bow, a flourish, it staggers out of sight, back the way it came.

  Kevin slaps through the screen door to run after it, out onto the front walk, despite William’s yelp of protest. He stands there gaping at the monster as it disappears into the woods. The snapping of branches is the only sign it was ever here, and even that quickly fades under the eaves of the trees.

  Kevin looks at us. At me.

  “Jesus fuck,” he says.

  “Get in here, you idiot!” William yanks him back inside, slams the door behind us, leans against it.

  “Jesus fuck,” Kevin repeats, his stare still fixed on the side window. He backs away from it until his heel collides with the stairs, and he sits heavily down.

  “Do you get it now?” I demand. “Do you?”

  “Shut up.” He says it without feeling, sagging ghost-pale against the railing. “Oh my God. I’m going to puke.”

  “Just breathe,” William says.

  “How am I supposed to fucking breathe? You’re telling me that has been wandering around outside all this time, while we were—oh my God, they can’t get into the house, can they?”

  “I don’t think so.” I do my best to swallow my impatience. “Not…directly, anyway. Remember those roots I was telling you about? In the basement?”

  “That is so not helpful.” Kevin grinds the heels of his palms against his eyes. “This has to be a bad dream.”

  “I’ve been waiting to wake up for days now,” William says. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up with some sort of job too.”

  “A job? That’s what you’re calling it?” Kevin looks up again, back and forth between us. “You’re just listening to those things?”

  Not this again. “Do you see an alternative?”

  “What about all your ninja skills?” Kevin demands. “You’re not going to fight them?”

  “They have my sister.” How many times do I have to say it? “I can’t.”

  “I don’t think we have a choice, Kev,” William says hollowly.

  “Of course you do! Come on, man. No. There’s got to be some other way to get them off your back. We’ll figure it out. We could take the zombie apocalypse, we can take these things!”

  “I thought so too. I really did. And look what happened.” William folds his arms, maybe bracing himself to hold his ground. It just makes him look smaller. Cold and lost. “Seriously. There’s no choice. I can’t delay any more. I can’t risk anybody else getting hurt.”

  Kevin has rallied enough to glower at me. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Kevin, for fuck’s sake,” I cry.

  “She did, didn’t she?” He laughs, incredulous. “Oh my God. Look, she’s the one who dragged you into this! Why are you listening to her?”

  “Maybe because I’m right! You think I wanted this to happen? You think I wanted any of this?”

  “I think,” Kevin snaps, “that you would shove anybody under a bus if it would save your ass. Including me. Including him.”

  “Come on, Kev, she’s doing all of this to save her sister. If she was really like that, she’d have walked away.”

  “So what happens when they tell her it’s you or her sister? What happens then?”

  They both look at me. I glare back, stone-faced.

  “Say it,” Kevin insists. “What happens then? Who wins?”

  “I don’t know,” I say raggedly. Truthfully. “What would you do, since it’s so obvious? I could use the advice.”

  “He’s not doing it,” Kevin declares, and cuts William off when he starts to protest. “You’re not! What the hell kind of friend would I be if I was okay with this? I’m not going to stand by and watch while you do this. I won’t let you!”

  “And how exactly do you think they’re going to react if you stop him? You think they’ll leave any of us alone?”

  “Why are you even still here?” Kevin blazes. “You were here to convince me they’re real. Fine, I’m convinced. Get the fuck out of my house!”

  I start toward him, fists clenched, but a hand on my arm pulls me back.

  “Skye. Don’t.” William looks beaten, his eyes shadowed, his shoulders hunched. “Look. You’d better go. I’ll deal with this.”

  When I hesitate, William sighs and pulls the door open again, holds it there, waiting. Kevin shoves his hair out of his face, still glaring at me.

  “I’ve made up my mind,” William says. “This is on me now. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

  * * *

  Saturday is empty, endless. I co
uld spend the day screaming. There’s nothing I can do now, truly—literally. I’m in free fall, waiting to hit bottom, the air whistling past my ears. I’m the Queen of Swords for heartbeats at a time, frozen and regal, the knife-edge of calm. Mostly, I’m thin paper, smoldering, ready to go up in panicked flames. If I sit still, I’ll burn to ash.

  William said they would be leaving bright and early, his family and Kevin’s rolling out in a convoy. Like an idiot, I unlock my phone a million times—what am I expecting, live tweeting? But whenever it’s in my pocket, a conviction wraps itself a little more tightly around me, an awful, strangling thought: What if he didn’t go? What if Kevin got him to change his mind? He can’t change his mind now. I’ve bought and paid for this. What will I do if he changes his mind?

  Once I’ve let the idea in, it’s as if I’m possessed. It’s not me flinging the door open, not my feet devouring the distance between my house and William’s. I’m going for a walk, that’s all. I’m going for a walk to clear my head. I repeat it to myself until I’m stepping over the fading bloody spot on the stones, until I’m knocking on his front door.

  I have a breathless, dizzy moment standing on the step to wonder what the hell I’m doing before Angie opens the door. Her expression goes blank and closed when she sees it’s me. She leaves the screen door closed between us. She doesn’t say hello, doesn’t say anything.

  “Is William home?” It comes out shaky, but polite enough.

  “No,” she says shortly.

  I want to be relieved. But if he were home, she wouldn’t tell me.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “Not really.” Getting this look from an adult is way worse than getting it from kids at school. It could scour me to the bone if I stand in it long enough.

  “Okay.” I give up, retreat, kicking myself. This was a bad idea. “Sorry to bother you.”

  But before I reach the end of the walk, she calls my name. When I turn back, she’s leaning out the door, looking at me unhappily, biting her lip like she’s not sure whether she should speak.

  “You’re going through a lot right now,” she says. “I get that.”

  That statement is so absurd, I could laugh. I choke it down, expressionless, and shrug instead.

  “It’s just that William—he’s got the kindest heart of any kid you’ll ever meet. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

  But he’s the kind of person who’s doomed to get hurt. I knew it right from the start. I wish I’d never met him.

  “I know.” I cram my hands in my pockets, turn away. “Me neither.”

  Twenty-Five

  Sunday. The end of the afternoon. I run full tilt across the empty lot, rain misting down around me, clutching my backpack full of monster-making supplies, just in case. All William’s message said was meet me there. It’s done, it’s over, it has to be.

  He’s slower than I am this time. When he ducks between the leaning cedars, he looks terrible. Not just worn and tired, but defeated somehow, a light gone out of him. His hair is wet, stray curlicues plastered against his face.

  “Here,” he says, and pulls something from his pocket. A heather-gray bundle of cloth. A T-shirt. Splashed with red-brown. Stiff with it.

  “It’s mine.” His voice is colorless. “My uncle used it to try to stop the bleeding.”

  “William—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He drops down onto the log, puts his hands over his face. The bandage on his arm peeks out at the cuff of his jacket.

  “That’s fair,” I manage. I don’t really need to know. I don’t really want to. But after a moment, he speaks again anyway.

  “He’ll live. In case you’re wondering. It was—I hit—” He gives up on the words and slaps a hand against his knee instead. I clutch the bloodstained shirt in silence.

  “I didn’t think I could do it,” he whispers. “There’s no way I could have done it. But they got to Kevin.”

  The words flash through me, leave me numb. Just like Sophie. I don’t want to hear this.

  “We were on our way out to the blinds, all together, and…and Kevin and I had been arguing, so he was way ahead of me, and something…at first it looked like he fell. But then he started screaming. Something had his leg, he was halfway down this hole in the ground, and it wouldn’t let go, it kept dragging him deeper. Bit by bit. I’ve never heard anybody scream like that before.” His voice cracks; he folds his hands over his head. “So I did it. I fired. While they were all trying to get him out.

  “They all think it was an accident. Even Dad. They got him on the stretcher, and he was all, it’s okay, William, shit happens. Yeah. Sure. I told them—I said I’d drawn in case it was an animal or something, and something slipped. Something went wrong. And everyone believes me. Except for Kevin. Obviously. He didn’t say anything, but…he just…he just looked at me. He was hurt worse than Dad. The guys who picked us up said his leg looked like he’d been attacked by a cougar or something.” He closes his eyes. Tears escape down his cheeks. “I can still see it. It was like…raw meat, or…or that fucking raccoon, it was like—”

  “You had to do this, William. You had no choice. I know, okay?” When he doesn’t answer, I press on. “Look, you tried to warn Kevin. You did everything you could. You exhausted every other possibility.” He passes his sleeve across his face, shakes his head. “You did! You slit your own wrist the other day! And when it didn’t work, you did what you had to, even though it was horrible. You did it to save your friend. You look pretty heroic from here, all right?”

  “But I did have a choice. I could have said no. I could have. Right up until the second I let the arrow go.” He looks up at me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Did I do it to save Kev? I don’t know. Maybe I did it to save myself. So they wouldn’t come for me next. Maybe they just had to convince me that they really would.”

  The blood has turned the fabric into hard ridges that almost crunch when I tighten my grip. I don’t want to look at it. I don’t want to think about what’s coming next, the half-glimpsed inevitability of it. But William’s bleak honesty is a fishhook, dragging it into the light. I have to say something. He insisted on warning Kevin. I have to warn him.

  “You should go. Before I try this. You did what they wanted. You should go home before they rope you into anything else.”

  “Probably,” he responds, and doesn’t move.

  “William—”

  “Look,” he says, his voice tight, “they know where to find me anyway. Don’t they? And I paid for this, all right? I just want to see what it was for. I just want to know that it worked.”

  I have to tell him. I have to tell him what he’s walking into. But if he turns away—if I manage to convince him to run, to not look back—it means they lose their prize. It means I lose. It means I surrender. I think of the monsters, a bony antler-hand poised to strike. I think of the raccoon, guts spilling out.

  I can’t lose. Surrendering’s not an option.

  I can’t think about this. I have to focus. Maybe we’re supposed to summon them somehow to claim their payment, but the thought of their bony faces, their lurching movement, turns my stomach. Well, this is supposed to pay for the guide, isn’t it?

  Deirdre’s creations were clothed, sort of.

  I spread the bloodied shirt on the ground with shaking hands, dig Mom’s scissors out of my backpack, slice through the stained fabric. Little rust-colored flakes fleck the blades.

  The creature’s waiting. Its glass eyes sparkle in the shifting light falling through the cedar boughs as I step closer. It already looks more alert. Hungry. I don’t want to touch it. I drape the shirt around its stick and wire torso, fumble the cut edges into a clumsy knot below the skull so it hangs like a bloody cape.

  Its body trembles, rattles, as if a gust of wind is blowing through it. Its head lolls, rocks back and forth, as if it’s stretc
hing, like an animal testing the wind. I stumble back as its stick arms swing out, flex back and forth. But all it does is cross them over its torso and bend toward me in a little bow. And then it lifts its stone feet and hobbles with surprising speed through the door of the clearing.

  I run after it, but it’s not going far. It reaches out to touch the shaggy back of the castle, and the dirt crumbles and slides away. A hole opens in the slope with a muffled thump and patter, wider and wider, until I’m staring into a tunnel that stretches into darkness, roots snaking down from the ceiling. My guide shuffles through that opening, disappears.

  A sudden light at my shoulder startles me: the LED of William’s phone. He holds it up high to illuminate the corridor. The monster’s hitching movement is barely visible at its edge.

  “Come on,” he says, and hands me my backpack. “Before we lose it.”

  The tunnel is tall enough for me to pass, cringing away from the touch of trailing things that catch like hands at my hair and arms. William has to stoop down, stumbling along behind me. His breath is loud in my ears. The air is full of a secretive garden smell: wet, black earth, the sly cold scent of growing things.

  Even when the walls and ceiling recede, the roots crowd closer around us, roping across our path, thick as my arm, twining around each other. We have to climb over, duck under, shimmy around them.

  “Can you see it?” William pants.

  “No.” It’s hard to force my voice past a whisper. It’s hard to push myself forward, inching into something’s lair against every screaming instinct. The dark presses down around us. “But there’s only one way it could have gone.”

  Squeezing through one gap, I knock loose part of the wall; it comes showering down on me in pale, crumbling chunks like chalky gravel.

  Like drywall.

  I brush the debris off my sweater. I don’t say what the fuck. Saying it out loud will make the fear real, a thing with teeth I can’t escape. Instead, I hold out my hand for his phone—it’s reading 33:33, with NO SIGNAL glaring at the top of the screen—and cast the light up over the passage before us.