The Pale Girl (a work in progress)

May 19921

Bejeweled appears the night, twinkling like a moonlit ocean with the blinking of a million roaming fireflies. Trees stand black and motionless against a velvet sky, without wind to rustle their leaves. There is a chorus of crickets, the hoot of an owl, and, off in the distance as they always are, a lone coyote howls. The still air had been hot beneath the sun’s melting stare, but the cooling night has made it bearable. Sweet odors of nature hang amplified by the previous day’s rain. This is the sort of night that a man away from the city might comfortably enjoy from his front porch or back patio.2

Until a few minutes ago, Morris Thompson had been one of those men.3

“Andy!” he yelled inside the house to his eldest son, “Get the revolver out of the kitchen and get out here! They come back, the sonsabitches!”4

Morris lifted his shotgun, squinting with every ounce of concentration he could muster. The bastards were wearing all black, and it was hard to see them at night. Their movements were like the imaginary flickers one sees from the corner of the eye, barely perceptible yet suggestive enough to warrant a harder glance. They kept screaming and yelling, though, so he sometimes could find them that way. He was rarely able to get a shot off, and had yet to actually hit one.5

Except for that first night. Now, he was regretting it.6

“ANDY!” he yelled again. Creeping black figures moved closer, foot by foot, up the hill to the front porch of the farmhouse.7

“I’m here, Pop!” replied the young man of nineteen. He held the revolver at his side, loaded. He wore only a hastily-donned pair of jeans, his hair disheveled from sleep.8

“Daddy, what’s going on?” the small voice of Emily Thompson, age six, set off very deep warning alarms in Morris’ head.9

“Emily, get inside the house with your brothers and sisters.”10

“Daddy…”11

One of the insurgents unleashed a vile shriek. Like the cry of a bat, it echoed palpably from every surface in its wake; the family felt it in their bones and on their flesh.12

“NOW!” The girl went.13

“Jesus, Pop, these assholes are hard to keep track of!” his hands shaking, Andy was staring down the sights of the revolver, looking pointlessly into the frustrating darkness. The transom light was on, but it illuminated little beyond a few feet from the porch stairs. The intruders were wisely avoiding getting so close. In fact, they were no longer advancing in a direct front to the house, but widening their line. It was almost as if…14

“Oh hell, they’re trying to surround the house!” Morris cursed as he watched one of the invaders dart along the ground like a jackrabbit. He knew that shooting the one that first night had been a bad idea, but now his whole family might pay the price for his rashness.15

“Andy, get the kids into the basement and for the love o’ God don’t let any o’ those fuckers in the back door!”16

“Pop, are you sure…”17

“And lock this door behind you, too!”18

As soon as Andy slammed the front door, the invaders sprung into action. At least eight black, screaming figures made a daring charge up the hill, covering twenty feet before Morris snapped into action and shot. One of the figures was hit in the leg and fell, shrieking in agony. The others dropped to the ground or otherwise took cover.19

Morris reloaded his shotgun quick, and took aim for one he could see poking his head from behind the big tree in the front yard. He was a hairsbreadth away from scattering the bastard’s brains, when a flash of black movement caught his eye near the side of the house.20

The side where ivy-bound lattice climbed straight up to the master bedroom window on the second floor.21

Morris jumped the porch steps and raced after the elusive shadow. He knew the other intruders would be after him in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t let this one get upstairs. His wife had been plagued by insomnia as of late, and had likely taken sleeping pills. She’d be out like a light until dawn, and easy prey.22

He saw the silhouette climbing, in clear view against the white house. The farmer’s eye was lined up perfectly in the sight, his finger squeezed the trigger…23

The shot went wild, echoing in the empty expanse of night. Morris tumbled to the ground; one of the dark men had rammed into him at a full run. He scrambled about in panic, trying to locate his shotgun before the invaders vengefully finished him off.24

It was not to be. Morris felt a dull thud on the back of his head, and slipped out of cognition.25

When finally he awoke from blurry unconsciousness, Morris stumbled to his feet, his head throbbing in great nauseating waves. He touched his balding scalp, and watched the blood shine on his fingertips for a moment. Then, he recalled why he had left the fortress of his front porch.26

Dizzy and in pain, Morris tripped up the front stairs, falling onto the porch. He cursed as he rose to pound on the door.27

“Open this goddamn door, Andy! It’s me!”28

Luckily for Morris Thompson, Andy and the rest of the family still held sway over the farmhouse. The black-clad figures were nowhere to be seen, nor their blood-curdling shrieks to be heard. The door unlocked.29

Morris shambled over the threshold like a drunk. Those damned trespassers had to have given him a concussion. But he had to thank God that they left him alive, even if he didn’t understand why.30

“Pop, Jesus, what happened to you? We thought you musta been killed!” Andy exclaimed.31

“Daddy!” Emily raced up to her father in tears, throwing her arms around his waist, as high as she could reach.32

“Hit me on the fuckin’ head,” Morris replied. “Ever’body okay in here?”33

Andy looked away for a moment. “Not quite, Pop.” His face said that there was more to add, but the young man remained tight-lipped and firm-chinned. It was his father’s expression.34

“What happened?” asked Morris. After all that noise, the silence in the house was unbearable. The tick of the kitchen clock crept into the living room. The silver cross on the wall seemed to swallow all the light around it. 35

“It’s… it’s Mom,” Andy said. He took a deep breath, but once again stayed silent.36

“She upstairs?”37

Andy nodded. Morris scaled the staircase as quickly as his state allowed. He remembered the one who had been climbing the lattice… what had that foul thing done to his wife?38

“Caroline?” he called to her from down the hall. The bedroom door stood slightly ajar at the end, a stream of moonlight breaking the relative darkness of the house. He heard small sounds of wracked weeping from the bedroom. The kids weren’t saying a word downstairs.39

Morris pushed the door open with a creak, and heard a frightened, sobbing gasp. His wife was sitting on the side of the bed, a shredded quilt wrapped around her bent form. The room was trashed, and there was a small spattering of blood on the pillow. Flapping in the breeze, the curtains hung crooked around the open window. A strange stink of sweat and earth fouled the air. The distant, lone coyote howled again.40

“Caroline?”41

Morris came around the side of the bed slowly, fearing what he might find. His wife wouldn’t look at him, but he could see the blood and bruises on the side of her face. He could also plainly see that her nightgown lay in ruins upon the floor. Beneath the quilt, she was nude. Wounds marred her body.42

“Morris…,” she sobbed, and broke down in tears again. He knew what had been done to her. He could not summon words.43

August 200644

Jeremy Potter, Jr. descended the stairs of his parents’ farmhouse, watching as the slants of light from the windows were turned to gray by the twisting mini-blinds. Upon reaching the bottom, he saw his mother closing the curtains. She switched on a stand-alone lamp, dimming the glowing bulb with the twist of a knob.45

“What’s with the low light, Mom?” he inquired.46

“The Thompsons are coming over for dinner tonight,” she answered. Jeremy waited a moment, thinking she was going to elaborate, but she silently continued on her mission to dim the house.47

“So, what, are you guys having a séance?”48

Sandra. Potter sighed, slightly annoyed at his quip. She didn’t recall kids being that clever when she was his age. Then again, her son basically had a sponge for a brain. At only fourteen he had just about filled an entire wall with media, mostly books. He was sick often and had terrible allergies, so he was usually not a big help around the farm. When he was unable to work, he was reading.49

She turned to face him. “You kids might find a séance more wholesome. They’re bringing Gwen with them.”50

“I don’t see why Rachel doesn’t like her,” he replied, “she just looks a little different.”51

“Well, you didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her last time, remember? You were sick upstairs and just saw her from your window.”52

A doubtful look crossed Jeremy’s features. “She can’t be that bad, can she?”53

Mrs. Potter put on a false smile, and answered, “I suppose you’ll find out tonight.”54

***55

The Thompsons arrived an hour ahead of the dusk, the oppressive heat and brightness of the high summer’s day fleeing in their wake. Unusual for their typically pleasant visits, the light seemed also to be fading from their hearts.56

Jeremy looked around the bright dinner table at the assembled party. His parents hosted pleasantly enough, but his little sister, Rachel, seemed to concentrate solely on her food. He noted odd new qualities in the familiar faces of the Thompsons, and of course, the one unfamiliar face was odd enough on its own.57

Old Mrs. Caroline, as she was known by friends and family alike, ate quietly with a nervous smile, furrows on her brow and hands gripping the silverware somewhat tightly. Her hair was totally gray now; it had been so for years, but she had always dyed it before. In others, this might be a sign of finally embracing old age. In Caroline Thompson, a woman who hadn’t truly been happy in many years, it was a sign that she simply no longer cared. She avoided looking at anyone more than once as they spoke.58

Beside his wife sat Morris Thompson (Old Mr. Thompson, to those who wished to be consistent in pointing out the couple’s aging), looking a bit younger than his wife despite the fact that he was fully five years older. Wrinkles were setting into his tan and pockmarked face, liver spots beginning on a set of hard-palmed hands that had been worked sore daily for far too long. His blue eyes seemed to stare out of his face from within caves. What little hair clung desperately to his head was white as snow. He monitored the conversation with what appeared to be intense interest, but, as was his nature, it seemed he secretly anticipated the worst at any moment.59

“Emily,” Morris spoke, quiet but deep; it was a voice you almost felt more than heard, “tell everyone about this interesting young man from the city you’ve met.”60

He was addressing the young woman to his left, the sole member of the visiting family who wore a true and earnest smile on her lovely face. Emily Thompson was a vision of beauty at twenty, with long, silky blond hair flowing down along her shapely figure, and shining green eyes set like jewels in her soft face. The life and vigor that hung about her utterly overpowered the rest of her dismal family.61

“Really, Emily, do tell!” Sandra Potter talked to her with charm that bordered on laughter, always pleased to be in the presence of the only Thompson these days who truly seemed to be alive.62

“Well,” Emily began, flushing slightly, “his name is Paul…I don’t even know what to say about him. He’s got the most gorgeous eyes, and his smile just makes me melt. He’s training to become a firefighter.”63

“Oooh,” Mrs. Potter raised her eyebrows. “The big strong type. Good choice.” She squeezed the bicep of her husband, Jeremy, Sr. Typical of the “big, strong type,” Mr. Potter gave a small chuckle and kept eating. He had come to hate dinner with the Thompsons over the past few years.64

“Emily’s been spending quite a bit of time out with this fella,” Morris added, with a small smile. “It’s getting to the point where her responsibilities at home are a tad neglected.”65

An annoyed sigh stopped the conversation for a moment, and Jeremy took the time to really study the small, silent girl from which it had come. The others in his family avoided looking.66

Gwen Thompson hadn’t said a word since her half-hearted “Nice to meet you,” upon being introduced to Jeremy at the door. Far better than him; he had nearly forgotten to greet her at all once he saw her up close. 67

She looked to be about Jeremy’s own age. His first thought was to label her an albino, but that wasn’t quite right. He thought he detected blonde streaks throughout her very long hair – falling past her hips, it had probably never been cut – and there was something about her skin that didn’t look quite like anything he had ever seen before. It wasn’t white; it seemed less than white, somehow.68

In the brief glimpse Jeremy had caught of Gwen from his window when she had visited the previous year, he had noticed the dark glasses she wore. At the time he had attributed it, along with the dark clothing that covered her entire body, to protection against the sun’s rays. Now, however, she carried a walking stick and Jeremy was told that she was blind.69

It’s so odd, the young man thought yet again, looking at the stick that leaned against the wall behind her, I could have sworn she didn’t use that thing a year ago.70

Jeremy returned his mind to the present, and saw he was not the only one who stared at the girl. Emily’s beautiful face was crossed by hurt as she looked at her younger sister. Gwen’s own father shot her a glance of malevolence, then resumed eating.71

Mr. Potter cleared his throat. “So then, Morris, you’re expecting yet another one might leave the nest before long, eh?”72

Morris Thompson grunted in assent. The rest of the meal’s conversation was sparse and quiet.73

***74

“Don’t do it, Jeremy,” Rachel pleaded, craning her neck around the upstairs banister. The white figure seated on the living room sofa seemed not to notice the two Potter children above. Her pale fingers moved slowly across the pages of a book, her silent lips forming words as she felt them.75

“Why not?” he asked, feigning consideration for his younger sister’s pointless fear.76

The eight-year-old moved backward into the doorway of her bedroom. “She’s scary.”77

“How is she scary? She’s just sitting down there reading, like anyone else.”78

“She’s not looking at the book!” Rachel said loudly.79

“No point in trying to hide now, she definitely heard that,” Jeremy replied, eyes rolling. “And she’s blind, she can’t read with her eyes. That book has special pages with little raised bumps instead of letters, it’s called Braille.”80

“Well, she could at least act like she’s looking.” Rachel said after a moment.81

“I’ll be sure to bring that up. Now, I’m going down there.”82

“Jeremyyyy,” she whined between clenched teeth, “don’t tell her I said that!”83

Jeremy smirked as he descended the creaking staircase. Gwen briefly turned her head in the direction of the sound, then returned to her book. Now he felt a bit awkward; he always complained when someone in his family interrupted him while reading.84

Jeremy paused, unsure of proper etiquette for the blind.85

“Hey, Gwen. It’s, uh, Jeremy Potter.” He felt as though he were talking on the telephone.86

Gwen tilted her head to face him. Her eyebrows rose behind the dark glasses.87

“Those are some lovely blue eyes you have, Jeremy.”88

She had hung up the phone and come over to visit. The boy stood at an utter loss for words; he managed to say, “Uhhh,” before he noticed Gwen wore a wry smile.89

“So I guessed right, then,” she said, her voice reserved and calm. “Emily said your parents both had blue eyes. I’m sorry, I can never resist.”90

“Oh,” Jeremy said, torn between relief and lingering confusion. “Um, you mind if I sit down?”91

She shrugged. “It’s your house.”92

Jeremy plopped himself down in a recliner opposite Gwen, wanting to wave a hand in front of her eyes; he found himself distracted when she didn’t face him directly. Yes, he conceded, an eight-year-old could find this creepy with little trouble.93

“What are you reading?” he asked.94

“The Haunting of Hill House,” she replied. “Shirley Jackson.”95

“That’s a good one,” Jeremy was in more comfortable territory now, thank God for Braille. “What part are you on?”96

“Eleanor is holding Theo’s hand in the dark, listening to the sound of a child crying.”97

“Ooh, creepiest scene in the book, I think. I won’t tell you how it ends.” Jeremy thought of the chilling revelation when the light was turned on, and how it had actually kept him awake when he closed the book and tried to sleep.98

“I already know,” Gwen said with a sigh, “I’ve read this book a couple of times before.”99

“A favorite, huh? I’ve got a few books that I go back to every now and then, just because I like them so much. The spines are getting a bit worn.”100

“Not exactly what I meant,” she said, the subject clearly a source of irritation. “It’s great and all, but I don’t have any new ones, and nobody will read to me anymore.”101

Jeremy frowned. “Why not?”102

“You didn’t notice how they reacted to me at dinner?” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “My parents hate me.”103

“Hate is a bit of a strong word, don’t you think?” Jeremy replied. Goodbye comfortable territory.104

“Yes, and I should know,” Gwen said, “I don’t like them, either.”105

“Why –,”106

“Emily used to read to me every night,” she interrupted, “but now she’s always in the city.”107

“Oh yeah, with that guy…,” Jeremy bit his lip. He knew it wasn’t his place to go prying into her personal life, but after that uncomfortable moment at the table, his curiosity was thoroughly sparked. “Have you talked to her about this?”108

“What good would that do? She doesn’t want my company anymore, just like the rest of them.”109

Jeremy thought back to the looks on the Thompson’s faces when Gwen had silenced the already sparse conversation. “She looked kind of hurt at dinner, when your dad looked angry. I don’t think she hates you.”110

Gwen turned her head, as though looking away; Jeremy guessed some gestures were just instinct.111

“So what if she doesn’t hate me? She’d still rather spend time with…him.”112

“I think she’ll read to you if you ask her,” Jeremy said. “Maybe not every night, but whenever she can.”113

“You don’t know her,” Gwen said, suddenly defensive. “You don’t know any of them, or me. How can you be so sure?”114

Jeremy was afraid he’d lost her. “Well, it’s worth a try, isn’t it? She’s not reading to you at all now, so what have you got to lose?”115

She sighed. Her fingers toyed with a strand of her white hair. “Nothing, I suppose.”116

“I’ll even loan you a book for her to read, so you’ll have something new. I’ve practically got a library. What do you think?”117

“Gwen?” the soft voice of Emily Thompson floated into the room. Jeremy turned to see her standing in the doorway, looking at the two of them. The woman appeared a bit embarrassed, as though in realization of having interrupted something.118

He turned back to Gwen. “Well?”119

“Okay,” she answered, though not with great enthusiasm.120

“Great. I’ll be right back.” Jeremy’s heart beat faster as he hopped up the stairs. His family wasn’t composed of readers; they only met him with confusion when he expressed excitement for the written word. Finally, after years of solitude, he realized he might not be a lone weirdo, after all.121

“Did she put a spell on you?” Rachel inquired later, eyes wide.122

“Yes,” Jeremy answered, watching the Thompsons leave from his bedroom window. “It’s a spell that makes me put spiders in little girls’ hair while they sleep at night.”123

“Ewwww!” Rachel squealed, resisting the urge to claw at her auburn locks.124

“Calm down, pipsqueak, she’s not a witch,” Jeremy replied, smiling. He began to wonder, however, at the effect Gwen did have on him; until the next time they talked, he thought about her almost constantly.125

***126

North of Aurelia, there is no light to block out the stars. Sole testament to the city’s existence is a faint glow on the southern horizon, an electric aurora that may not dim until the fall of humanity.127

To the stars above and land below, that is the merest blink of an eye.128

There are fields and forests, streams and lakes upon this nightscape, as they exist when brightened by the sun. Trees are tall, black creatures that stand in a wall and are not swayed by wind. Brooks still babble in the absence of the sun, but use these darkened hours to whisper of times when they were part of mighty oceans long dead, and of times when they shall be part of them again. Lakes reflect the tiny light from stars above, using dreams to practice for the next long day of mirroring sunlit scenery.129

The creations of man are there as well, if only for the moment. Fences line the patches of earth over whom their builders foolishly presume mastery. Roads of dirt and gravel stretch along their weed-strewn paths, always the nearest to nature’s reclamation. Greater structures appear as abandoned relics; creaking away in the night breeze, they rot slowly in the unstoppable pull back to the dust which once they were.130

A high fence of steel surrounds a piece of land that has known the blight of man longer than any of its neighbors. Brave ivy has scaled the chain links, but has not been able to persuade the various elements within the steel that standing in this way is wrong.131

Outside the fence, a small figure stands wrapped in blackness, both by shade of trees and the textiles of man. Her small hands grip the links tightly, blood rushing to the knuckles.132

The very, very white knuckles.133

Even with hood drawn, her face could be seen by a sharpened eye. Her skin is the brightest thing on the nightscape outside the city. And she has been spotted.134

She cannot see, but she has heard them all around her. The brief noise of fabric as its wearer moves, the rustle of fidgeting feet in the grass, the seething breaths of a thing that knows it is predator…and one other noise. It is the least regular of them all, and the most terrifying thing she has heard in her entire life.135

From mere feet behind her, one of them screeches; it is a half-second noise, no longer than the beat of her quickening heart. Yet it lingers on every nerve ending, prickling her flesh. Mind and muscle freeze alike. The night breeze carries to her the scent of sweat and soil.136

The noise of sliding metal rings in the empty air. A strong hand grips her chin. The smell of earth is overwhelming, like being lowered into a grave. She gasps and sobs, feeling a cold, sharp edge digging into her throat. The thing sniffs her, loudly sighing as its face moves around her head and shoulders. She awaits the lethal slice.137

The thing feels it before she does; it stiffens, ceasing all noise and movement. She doesn’t even realize she has been released until she hears footsteps backing away. There is a licking noise, and the one that held her speaks a single word. The voice is a raspy breath. Speaking quietly appears to require much effort.138

“Grheimn,” it says. Hushed whispers circle the girl for a time. Then, she is alone once more. The child begins to wonder if it had not been some strange nightmare.139

She touches the smooth, pale surface of her right cheek, finding with no trouble the thing that may have spared her life. Her fingers come away wet.140

A tear?141

The girl starts home, breaking into a run before she has the chance to start thinking. She knows she will ponder on the moment of fear that followed the predator’s screech, when the smell of soil first came to her. Somewhere deep within that fear, she knows what she will find.142

The most terrifying aspect of that earthen scent, she will realize soon, was how it called to her so deeply, as a parent beckoning home a long lost child.143

***144

“Mmyeah?” the tired, gruff voice of Morris Thompson nearly made Jeremy hang up the phone.145

“Hello, Mr. Thompson, is Gwen there?” Jeremy choked out.146

There was a pause. “Who is this?”147

“It’s Jeremy Potter, Jr.… uh, sir. Can I talk to her?”148

Another hesitation. Jeremy got the distinct impression that Morris Thompson was trying to decide if this was some sort of joke.149

“You want to talk to… Gwen?”150

“Yes, sir. If it’s not too much trouble, sir.”151

Silence again. The boy wondered if he was in fact the first person to ever call for Gwen.152

“Why you want to talk to her?” Thompson’s tone was more suited to a question like “Why you want to eat cow turds?”153

“Well, uh, she has a book of mine that –,”154

“She steal it from you?” A chair scraped the floor in the background.155

“What? No, no, I leant it to her, Mr. Thompson! I just wanted to ask how the reading was going.” Suddenly worried, Jeremy bit his knuckle.156

“Oh,” Thompson’s voice returned to its prior laziness. “That the one Emily’s reading her?”157

“Yes, sir.”158

“Ah,” The hesitant pause intruded once more. “Well, hold on.”159

Jeremy sat before the desk in his room, feeling somehow embarrassed to have made this call. He thought about what Gwen had said…he didn’t know her, or her parents, after all. Maybe she wasn’t just exaggerating when she said they didn’t like her.160

Over the phone, Morris Thompson could be heard yelling, “Gwen! Giddup here!” Not the most cordial of summons. But then, it didn’t sound like his day was going peachy thus far.161

“Phone for you,” he said after a moment, “and make it quick. You’re lucky I didn’t just hang it up.” The noise of the receiver changing hands.162

“Hello?” Gwen’s nonchalant, tired-of-everything voice crackled through.163

“Hey, it’s Jeremy,” the boy tried to eliminate the wince that Mr. Thompson had instilled in his voice. “Did I call at a bad time?”164

“Not much worse than any other,” she replied, “why?”165

“Well, your Dad sounds a little unhappy.”166

Once again, the Thompson end of the line was filled with the sort of silence that only invades the air after a statement of considerable stupidity. Jeremy was beginning to get tired of these quiet insults.167

“He’s always unhappy,” Gwen said, slowly.168

“Upset, then. With you.”169

“Again, nothing revolutionary.”170

If Jeremy beat his metaphorical head against the wall much longer, he felt he would begin the process with his physical one.171

“Anyway, how’s the reading going? Do you like the book?” he inquired. He had loaned her one of his favorites, The Fall of Rome by R.A. Lafferty. Having never met anyone else who had even heard of it, he had decided to begin personally spreading the gospel of the Visigoths.172

“Emily’s only read to me a few nights of the past week, but we’re moving along quickly. We just got through the Battle of the Frigidus.”173

“Oh man, wasn’t that intense? I was actually on the edge of my seat reading that part.”174

“I admit, I worried when Arbogast had the Eastern forces surrounded. I’m intrigued with Alaric, too.”175

Jeremy was secretly elated that his turn had come for confused silence. “Well yeah, he is the main character.”176

“True enough,” she maintained the flat tone, although Jeremy thought he could hear a smile in her voice. “But it’s the tension that’s forming around him – Stilicho wants him to be a Roman, but Athaulf and his family wants him to be Gothic. That’s the part that I like most.”177

“Classic conflict of destiny,” Jeremy remarked. “Always makes for a good story.”178

Morris Thompson could be heard grumbling in the background.179

“Fine, just another minute or two, please?” Gwen sighed as she spoke to her father.180

“Gwen, what’s up with him?” Jeremy knew no parent who was quite as impatient as Mr. Thompson, unless something was wrong.181

“Oh, he’s upset because I took a walk last night, and woke him up when I came in,” she clearly didn’t care about angering Morris.182

“You took a walk…at night?” the moment Jeremy said it, he smacked his own forehead.183

“Well it’s not like I have trouble seeing, Jeremy.”184

“Yeah…sorry.” He really had to pay more attention around Gwen; beneath that dormant nonchalance was a wit like lightning and an ear for slip-ups. Jeremy imagined she may have provoked some of her father’s dislike with more than a few sarcastic quips over the years.185

“No, you’re fine. You should come with me next time.”186

“On a night walk? Where to?”187

“You’ll have to tell me, I’m afraid,” she was audibly smiling again, “I’m not good with landmarks.”188

“Now, Gwen,” Morris threatened.189

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you then, Jeremy.”190

He was lost. “When?”191

“On our night walk, of course. Goodbye.” She hung up.192

Jeremy did likewise. Having a friend in Gwen Thompson was going to be interesting, indeed.193

***194

At his window, Jeremy studied the angle of the late afternoon sunlight upon the distant, swaying treetops. The line of trees upon the high, northern ridge had overgrown an antiquated wire fence, the property line between the Potter and Thompson farms. Generations ago, the fence had not even been there; the two families had been so close as to nearly resemble a commune. There were none of the living Thompson or Potter blood who could recall such open times. The fence and trees had gone up, and as far as they cared to know, they might always have been there.195

Jeremy’s roaming eyes came to the one small gap in the tree line; the fence continued there, although only the bottom wire remained (there was almost no one in either family who hadn’t tripped upon it out of carelessness), but the trees had not been permitted to grow up in that spot. Years of running children and farmers in need of favors had made certain of that.196

“Whatcha looking at?”197

Jeremy was startled out of his reverie by Rachel’s voice suddenly piping up next to his ear.198

“Jesus, haven’t you heard of knocking?” He dropped back into the chair at his desk, set in the corner next to the window. His bed occupied the opposite corner of the room, and on this Rachel sat.199

“It’s more fun to scare you,” she replied. “You look out your window a lot.”200

Jeremy fixed her with a glare. He’d been sitting up late at night since his phone call with Gwen, watching for a flash of her pale skin in the gap of the tree line. He had not so much planned this vigil, so much as it came back to him almost every night that he should be expecting her. Now, watching the gap in moments of boredom was nearly an instinct. When would she come?201

“Have you been spying on me, you little brat?”202

“Every morning you look like you didn’t’ sleep,” she defended, “Mom and Dad are wondering about you. I just wanted to see what you were doing.”203

“Don’t worry about it.”204

“What are you looking at?”205

“You can be very annoying when you put your mind to it, you know that?” Jeremy turned and regarded Rachel as though she were some biting insect.206

“Fine, look out your stupid window, see if I care!” Rachel stormed off.207

Jeremy regretted snapping at his young sister; usually he restricted himself to teasing her, avoiding such scathing remarks. She hadn’t known that her question carried such personal, confusing connotations for Jeremy. How could he explain to anyone else that he was thinking about Gwen so much? And that she was going to visit him in the dead of night? Both fathers would probably work together to seal up that gap in the treeline. They’d probably think he had some kind of affection for her.208

He sighed as he finally tore himself away from the window. When are you coming, Gwen?209

***210

Interstate 61 shoots north out of Aurelia like a bullet, seemingly making no contact with the land. Its high views of the wide river valley and distant mountains should not be allowed to fool passing drivers, for it is a soulless spear, deterred not by the streams it leaps or the hills it impales. Driving it, one can see the entire valley in panoramic spread, but to see a thing is not the same as to know it. Even when 61 returns to ground level, the motorist is forever at a distance from the land.211

Suburbs and small communities, growing as moss on the great city’s trunk, sprawl with few interruptions over the land for about five miles. Past this limit, civilization is reduced once more to the lonely farms and churches that first robbed the land of its virginity. Driving along these empty roads in darkness, one might feel that perhaps he has somehow traveled through the boundary of time itself, and the wakening sun will reveal a chill autumn landscape devoid of human life.212

Yes, one lonely automobile winds its perilous way along these antique roads, high grass waving in the glow of its headlights. The abundance of stars above is striking to one who wastes all his time in the oppressive glow of the city, where night is nothing but the pitch-colored background to streetlights and illumined skyscrapers. The rough roads and black, looming trees make the driver’s neck hairs stand on end. He feels the cold tingle of exposed paranoia, as though the next glance in his rear-view mirror will reveal a pitch black figure stowed away somehow in his back seat. He drives faster, drink and stress having made him a nervous wreck before he even climbed into the car.213

A line of trees on his left, and he passes a closed iron gate; a well-kept building is nestled within the trees, its walls lit up by ground lights. An empty parking lot stands opposite. He has passed the park, and has less than ten minutes left ahead of him. He is relieved, but hurried at once. This man is no stranger to the low-lying valley. He knew the thing before he ever saw it all together. And because of that, he feels his mind slipping into the echoing cavern of fear.214

There. Just around a left-turning bend, a burned-out carcass has been left to rot atop a high hill. Its charred skeleton is an eyesore by day and a terror by night, yet no move has been made to bring it down. It was the intrusion of man that wrought such a thing in the first place, and men who know the valley have come to realize that their intrusions are not welcome in certain places.215

The church was the third to stand upon that spot, and the third to perish in fire. All of these churches were built by order of a single, obsessed preacher whose mind, it is whispered, became a ravenous and unwholesome place for dreams to linger after the second fire. The holy man was left only with nightmares, and, in the third and final blaze, gave up his life to become a creature within them.216

Yes, to know the place is to be subject to its own brand of fear. But the things we fear are usually not the things we know.217

The sound travels through the gentle nighttime breeze, over the high grass and out into the lonely road, where it enters the window of the passing car and the mind of its driver. He starts at the sound, his heartbeat doubling, flesh crawling. His hands lock onto the steering wheel as he listens to the noise echoing within his mind.218

It was a quick, high-pitched burst of a shriek. It shattered the night air, and gave rise to the images of a thousand bats flooding from the ruins of an incinerated church…219

Suddenly, the air was too cool for his liking; he rolls up the window. Inside the car, it strikes him that it is too quiet. Avoiding the look in his rearview mirror that he just knows will reveal an assailant, he turns the radio up, way up. He tries to sing along for a moment, but his voice is drunk and weak. Besides, he’s almost there. Just a few more minutes.220

He thinks of his destination, and his mind snaps back to his original problems. The reason he came out here at all comes back to him. He prepares to humble himself, and to embellish his story. He forgets, for a time, the lurking things that foul the earth when the sun holds no sway.221

But he will remember them again.222

***223

The entire Potter household was shocked awake at 1 a.m. by a banging on the front door.224

“Jeremy!” the slurred voice echoed in the still air outside. The head of the household was heard swearing as he threw open his bedroom door and stomped downstairs. He opened the door, and there was a thump.225

“Goddamnit, Jimmy!”226

Jeremy, Jr. had made it to the landing of the staircase just in time to see his Uncle James collapse through the doorway, an opened bottle of Jack Daniels falling out of his hand and spilling all over the living room rug.227

“Hey, Jeremy!” the fallen drunk smiled, then began coughing.228

“For fuck’s sake, Jimmy, what bad blood you got with my floor? You gonna puke on it, too? Jeremy, Sr. slung his brother’s arm around his neck, and hauled him to the bathroom. Sounds of retching wafted up the stairs, mixing with the sharp smell of whiskey and the shock of cold outdoor air to create a positively unpleasant environment for one to wake up to. Nevertheless, Jeremy continued down the stairs and stood outside the bathroom door.229

“What the hell are you doing here, Jimmy?” Jeremy’s father sounded quite weary.230

“Well, tha’s a fine howda-ya-do,” James hiccupped, flushing the toilet for emphasis.231

“She kicked you out again, didn’t she?”232

“Who d’ya mean?”233

“Jesus, Jimmy – Sandra, the girl you been living with for about six months, since the last time she threw your ass out! How drunk are you?”234

“I puked once on the flowers before I knocked on your door.”235

Jeremy heard a sound of light slapping and a sigh; obviously his father rubbing his hand down his face.236

“Sorry, Jeremy, but I wasn’t sure who y’was talking about. A lotta girls’ve kicked me out, y’know.” At this, he snorted and began laughing.237

“Yeah, I know, Jimmy. I’ve scooped your ass up off my porch more times than I care to count. You’d think these girls would start telling their friends about you or something, but I guess the city’s too big for word to get around.” Jeremy’s father turned to walk out, but stopped; Jeremy crept quickly back onto the landing, and found Rachel waiting there. He shushed her with a finger to his lips.238

“What’s going on?” she whispered.239

“I’ll tell you later,” he replied. They both listened for their father’s next words.240

“– soon as you get done retching, you can sleep on the couch. But don’t go anywhere else, you hear? You wake my family up again and you’ll be sleeping in the damn barn.”241

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” came James’ distant, slurred voice.242

The children retreated upstairs, where Jeremy gave Rachel an ominous look.243

“Looks like Uncle James is going to be staying with us for a while.”244

She stared blankly, then replied, “Again?”245

***246

Jeremy passed through the gap in the woods, narrowly evading the tripwire that remained of the old fence. Still, he was surprised by his sure-footedness in the dark. He wondered how Gwen could possibly find her way out here without sight.247

That’s a stupid thing to think, Jeremy realized, she finds her way everywhere without sight.248

She had called him earlier that day, apologizing for not showing up. It was Morris Thompson’s fault, apparently.249

“He put in a security system, and wouldn’t give me the code,” she lamented. “He’s also managed to keep me off the phone, until now. If he finds me on it right now he’ll kill me.”250

Jeremy was on his way to meet her as he reflected on the phone call. She had said to meet her by the big chestnut tree outside of her house.251

“How will you get out?” he had asked.252

He knew she had been smiling on the other end of the line. “Emily gave me the code.”253

The boy chuckled to himself as he came to the base of the hill on which the Thompson house was situated. He started up through the yard, not wanting to make too much noise by crunching along the gravel driveway. A few yards up, he stopped to look around.254

The Thompson house was not really on top of a hill; it was actually at the culminating height of a great ridge in the landscape. Beyond the house would be flat land rather than another downward slope. Despite its place on a rather prominent location, the house seemed quite hidden amongst the trees that dotted the hill before it. Even from below, with the building rising up beyond him, Jeremy thought it looked like the house was shying away from the eyes of the world, hiding a secret that it wished to take to the grave.255

He resumed his progress upward, moving from tree to tree as he grew closer. The last thing he needed was for Gwen’s father to spot him out here. Somehow, Jeremy suspected that Mr. Thompson might yet be keeping an eye out for more of Gwen’s nocturnal activity.256

The house was very close now. Jeremy looked up through the still trees at the moonlit white exterior, offset by the black shutters and darkness within the windows. A dim light glowed next to the front door on the porch, casting faint and odd shadows across the nearest features of the yard. On one side of the house, ivy-bound lattice climbed nearly all the way to the peak of the roof. A rectangular hole in the lattice, roughly level with the second story, revealed nothing but the bare, white side of the house.257

Weird, he pondered, raising an eyebrow. What could that have been –258

“Jeremy,” came a whisper. He froze, his eyes racing about, and spotted her.259

She leaned against the great chestnut tree, which sat at an angle to the house and rose surprisingly straight up from the hill. Against the blackness of the dark tree, her white skin was impossible to miss. He approached.260

“You should probably put on something with a hood next time,” he whispered as he came within reach of her. “Your skin lights you up like a beacon out here.”261

“And you probably shouldn’t crunch so many leaves on your way up the hill,” she replied, “I’m surprised the dog inside isn’t barking.”262

Jeremy sighed. “Fair enough. Where are we going?”263

Gwen smiled her Mona Lisa smile, strands of her long, white hair swaying across her face in the gentle night breeze. She was not directly facing Jeremy, and for some reason it bothered him more than it had before.264

“So the blind girl doesn’t know how to sneak out of her house, yet you trust her enough to lead you around the countryside at night? Interesting.”265

“Is this how you treat everyone who loans you a book?” Jeremy quipped. 266

“Ouch, I think I’m rubbing off on you,” she craned up her neck, as though looking at the sky.267

“Where are your glasses?” Jeremy asked. She did not wear the dark shades tonight, but instead had tied a dark, silky fabric over her eyes like a blindfold.268

“I could lose them easily out here. This thing is better.” She lowered her head. “The book is progressing nicely. Stilicho was just beheaded.”269

“A storm on the horizon, then,” Jeremy replied. “You’re almost to the end.”270

“Mmm,” she said, “shall we go?”271

“Sure,” he replied, and began walking uncertainly up the hill, in a direction that would take them in a wide arc around the house.272

“Jeremy,” Gwen called after barely a minute. He looked back, and saw her, arms outstretched, cane in one hand, the other hand grasping in the air. She was not directly behind him, but off on a somewhat diagonal path. He went back to her.273

“This isn’t working,” she said. Holding onto Jeremy’s shoulder with one hand, she raised her cane up high, and jammed it, standing up, into the soil.274

“You just want to leave it here?” he said, one eyebrow raised.275

“We can come back for it later,” a smile touched her face, “I don’t need it now; I’ve got a seeing-eye Jeremy.” She patted his head.276

“Har har,” he rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go this way.” He took her hand to lead her, suddenly feeling very exposed. What might his parents say if he was caught out in the middle of the night, holding hands with the strange Thompson girl?277

***278

Cool and scented by autumn leaves, the November wind cut softly through the night, its invisible billowing wrapping around all things on the plain and cleansing them. Small tufts of moon-illumined highgrass were as great raindrops frozen in mid-splash, ruffling in the breeze. All is bathed in lunar monochrome, from the plains rolling endless to distant forests and single trees of black. Isolated killdeer pierced the air with their shrill yet soothing calls.279

Jeremy led Gwen through this nightscape, but said little. He was in awe at the beauty all around him, intimidated by the powerful serenity of darkened nature. Yet, little of the wonder was derived from vision, as this sense was lessened by the lack of light. For once, Jeremy felt that he stood in Gwen’s shoes, appreciative more of the sound and feeling than of sight. The calming calls of nighttime birds and crickets, and especially the wind – its rushing sound, its invigorating breaths and caressing touches.280

Over the plains they walked, he leading her up and down rolling slopes, around copses of trees and across the worn-smooth stepping stones of eroding streams that carved through the ancient glacier-formed landscape. Solitary, widely-dispersed lights from various farms or the distant highway poked along the horizon. The red lights of a faraway radio tower lazily faded on and off.281

At length the two followed a small brook to the protruding wall of a mighty forest. They crossed, and began to follow the convex curve of the woods. A tall, overgrown fence topped with barbed wire rose in the distance when they came around the edge of the forest. Jeremy stopped their progress.282

“Huh,” he remarked, “I didn’t know we were out this way.”283

“What way?” Gwen asked.284

“By Ophidian Mounds,” Jeremy said, gesturing absently to the fence that loomed across the clearing. “You know, the State Park? Haven’t your parents ever taken you there?”285

“I hardly see how I would have enjoyed it if they had.”286

“Point taken,” Jeremy nearly slapped himself for forgetting her blindness again. “Anyway, the place is full of these huge, serpentine burial mounds. Indians built them thousands of years ago, but no one knows exactly why they did it that way. The place is surrounded by a big fence, and it’s maybe fifty yards away from us right now.”287

Gwen stiffened. “Let’s get out of here.”288

“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed, “the park rangers probably wouldn’t like us getting so close to the property.”289

A bat shriek sent shivers through the night air. Gwen jerked at Jeremy’s arm.290

“Scared of flying critters, are we?” he laughed.291

“I thought we were leaving,” she whispered through gritted teeth.292

“We are. Are you okay?”293

Another shriek, this time from a different direction.294

Gwen gave in to instinct, and bolted – right toward the fence around Ophidian Park. Jeremy ran after her.295

“Wrong way, wrong way!” he said, as loud as he dared. Gwen apparently heard; she slowed down just enough to prevent a painful crash into the fence. When she reached out and touched the chain link, however, she started to run off again. Jeremy grabbed her.296

“What’s your problem?” he rasped.297

“Come on, I want to go home, now.”298

“Fine, let’s go, but what are you freaking out about? It’s just a couple of bats, they’re all over the place out here.”299

What happened next would run rampant in Jeremy’s nightmares for years to come. Gwen tilted her head back, her nose sniffing in the air, as though she were…tracking something? Before he could ask her what she was doing, she cried, in a scream so high it caused his ears to ring, “Behind you!”300

Jeremy did not get the chance to look. From within the park, a fearsome, snarling thing crashed into the fence right at his back, shrieking in rage. Gwen pulled at him with all her strength; she could not get home without him.301

Jeremy could only hear shrieking. Fear robbed him of all other sensory awareness, but still he could hear the beast’s unearthly cries. Somewhere in his panicking mind, he pieced together a thought that chilled him back to reality.302

God help me…that thing is… speaking!303

Finally he ran alongside Gwen, neither sure who was leading the other, both aware that it didn’t matter, as long as they could evade the monster on their heels.304

Jeremy looked back once. Against the shaking chain link pattern he glimpsed the unmistakable, black shape of a human being dropping to the ground – on the outside of the fence. Wild shrieking followed in the footsteps of the two night walkers, running up their spines and clawing at their sanity. Suddenly it seemed all beauty and tranquility had fled from the night. Clouds rolled over the enlightening moon, and darkness was the word.305

Running feet pounded the soil dangerously close behind. Jeremy realized they wouldn’t make it if they just ran out in the open. They had to find a hiding place.306

“Come on!” Jeremy guided Gwen off the open plains and together they plunged into the thick forest. Jeremy led the way as far in as he dared before pulling Gwen down into the underbrush to hide; even if their pursuer couldn’t see them in the dark, he might be able to follow the sound of their crashing through the woods if they kept going.307

They lay there for a few minutes without a clear view of the spot where they had entered the forest. Small, shrill sounds that may have been merely a bat or killdeer echoed amongst the silent trees, but no one followed Jeremy and Gwen into the woods.308

“GRHEIIIIIIIIIIIMN!” 309

It was a scream from the bowels of hell itself, the haunting, infuriated cry of a demonic hunter that had lost its quarry. It pained Jeremy’s ears just to hear it; he thought his heart would explode if it pounded any harder. Gwen’s head throbbed, more from reminiscent fear than pain. Flocks of sleeping birds took flight, and hidden deer within the forest began butting their antlers madly against the trees. Dogs miles away that barked and snarled at the most frightful of intruders tucked away their tails as they hid beneath porches and inside doghouses. The nightscape itself, indeed, seemed to shiver.310

Whirling in a morass of terror, Jeremy lowered his head, and passed out.311

“Jeremy,” a distant voice brought him back to the world. He opened his eyes, and looked up through a mass of tangled veins set black against the sky of darkest violet. Beside him, he heard someone moving around on the floor of dead leaves and twigs. It all came back to him, slowly.312

“Gwen?” he mumbled, sitting up. The fear swirled back into his mind, and his hand shot out, grabbing the girl’s arm.313

“Where did he go? Is he still here?” Jeremy swung his head around, searching.314

“No, but someone will be here if you don’t keep your voice down!” she shot back, slapping at Jeremy’s hand. “Some men came through with guns after hearing that…thing scream. They came a little way into the forest, and I think one of the gods must be on our side, because they didn’t come close enough to see us.”315

“How long have I been out?” Jeremy asked.316

“Nearly an hour, I guess,” Gwen replied, “we need to get home.”317

“You’re telling me. Come on.”318

Taking her hand, Jeremy led her out of the woods, and in little time found the brook that had brought them to the forest. He tried as best he could to remember exactly the way they had come, and before long began to recognize landmarks. In little time enough, Jeremy was leading Gwen up the driveway to his very own house. The porch light was on, and it appeared that no one awaited his return. Both cars were still there. He breathed a sigh of relief.319

“Looks like I’m in the clear,” he said.320

“With your family, maybe,” Gwen replied, “You’ve still got to help me back up to my house.”321

“Shit.” Jeremy steered her toward the gap between the properties. For the second time that night, he crossed over the fence onto the Thompson farm, and didn’t trip.322

Neither did Gwen.323

He led her again up the great slope, through the tall trees and up near the house that shrunk away from the world. It appeared that no one waited here, either.324

“How many cars does your family have?” Jeremy asked.325

“Just the one,” she replied, “but it’s kept in the garage.”326

“Shit,” he said again. They came to the foot of the porch, hoping against hope that no one was awake.327

“We forgot my stick,” Gwen said suddenly.328

Jeremy slapped his forehead, remembering her jabbing the thing into the ground. Finding Gwen’s walking stick sprouting from the earth would not do much to abate her father’s suspicions.329

“Stay here,” he told her, “I’ll go grab it and be right back.”330

Jeremy raced around the side of the house and along the open field, easily spotting the white pole in the moonlight. He yanked it out and returned to the front of the house, careful not to step on too many leaves this time.331

When he came back to the porch, Gwen seemed frozen, absolutely rapt in place. She held a hand around one ear, listening.332

“Gwen? What’s wrong?” Jeremy asked.333

She snapped out of the reverie, and shook her head. “Oh, I thought I heard someone coming. I was afraid Morris was out looking for me.”334

Jeremy was somewhat taken aback at the use of her father’s first name. Given her dislike of him, however, he wasn’t that surprised. Had it been daylight and indoors somewhere, and they hadn’t just been chased by a screaming maniac, perhaps he might have even laughed.335

“Here’s your stick,” he said, the memory making him realize that he was exhausted, and still shaken. Jeremy would have traded a lot to wake up in bed the next morning and realize that it had all been a dream.336

“Thanks,” Gwen replied, taking it from him and climbing the porch steps. “Let’s do it again sometime.”337

Jeremy’s eyebrow shot up. “Let’s not.”338

There was a small silence, and finally the two fell into stifled laughter.339

“Let’s not,” Gwen agreed. “I’ll let you know how I like the book, Jeremy. Good night.”340

“Good night,” he said. She went inside. 341

Jeremy headed down the hill – taking considerable care this time to avoid crunching leaves when possible – and let his thoughts return to the horror by the Park. It had the form of a man, and it moved like a man; but that shriek! Jeremy didn’t know human vocal chords could produce a sound like that. 342

And how had Gwen known it was coming?343

He had watched her tilt her head up in the moonlight, almost as clear as day, and smell the air. Had Gwen… picked up their pursuer’s scent? How? He knew the blind possessed stronger senses to compensate for the one they lacked, but he didn’t know just how much stronger they might be.344

This reverie was interrupted when Jeremy passed through the gap in the tree line, and saw someone waiting for him on the porch.345

“What’s up, dude?” the slurred voice crooned. Jeremy came to the bottom of the porch steps, his eyes fixed on the dark form of his uncle. James swayed gently in the old porch swing, one hand around the neck of a whiskey bottle cradled in his lap. Even with so little light, Jeremy could tell his eyes were becoming glassy.346

“Just out for a walk,” Jeremy replied. “What about you, Jimmy?”347

“Me an’ my buddy Johnnie Walker are spendin’ some quality time together.” Jimmy smiled, kissing the side of the bottle. “Looks like you had a friend tonight, too.”348

Jeremy’s heart raced. He thought he hadn’t been seen, but…maybe James wouldn’t care. Or maybe he was too drunk to care. Jeremy was confident he could at least bet on the latter.349

“Yeah, we both kinda felt like walking and talking,” Jeremy said, his tone casual. “Who wouldn’t? It’s a nice night.”350

Jimmy’s smile oozed off of his face, and he scoffed. “Don’t let it fool you.”351

Jeremy was taken aback. “What do you mean?”352

“I know who you was with,” James sputtered. “You better off stayin’ ‘way from her.”353

His uncle’s warning was all he could stand. Jeremy couldn’t help thinking of his own mother on the afternoon that he met Gwen.354

You kids might find a séance more wholesome. She had said. They’re bringing Gwen with them.355

Jeremy had been confused then, and had remained confused since. She can’t be that bad, can she?356

I suppose you’ll find out tonight.357

And of course, there was Gwen’s own family. They pretended whenever they could that she didn’t exist, and Morris Thompson punished her every time she shattered that illusion.358

“Jimmy, why does everyone find her so horrible?”359

“It’s just ‘cause of who she is, man. You’re too young to remember all the shit that went down ‘round the time she was born.”360

“To me, ‘who she is’ seems to be a pretty interesting person who’s been spat on her whole life,” Jeremy replied. “Who is she to you?”361

James looked around, swaying as he moved. He then sat back against the swing once more, and pointed at his nephew.362

“You gotta promise you won’t tell nobody you heard this from me, un’erstand?” James spoke in hushed tones.363

“Fine,” Jeremy said, without hesitation.364

James looked out into the night, in the direction of the Thompson farm. His eyes appeared to focus once more, as thoughts of sobering events past cleared his mind of drink.365

“I was nineteen, ‘bout the same age as the Thompson’s oldest boy, Andy, when it happened. April or May of ’92, I think it was. I was livin’ here, actually; the whole fam’ly was here, your Gran’ma and Gran’pa too, before they died.366

“Anyway, it was early morning when Andy come over, and tol’ us that Morris wanted every man that could fire a gun up to his house. Said that Caroline had been hurt in a bad way, but he wouldn’t tell us exactly how. Well, when we heard that, we got over there quick as we could.”367

A cold wind sent a shiver through Jeremy as it blew through the porch. The wind chimes fixed to the overhanging roof rang with that discordant lightness that makes them charming in the daylight, and maddening at nightfall.368

“We knew it was nothin’ ordinary when we got ‘bout midway up the hill. The grass was torn up everywhere like a whole army came through, and big chunks of bark were missin’ from the trees in places, from gunfire I guess.369

“Weirdest thing was, your old man found this weird-lookin’ dagger, or maybe it was even a real little sword or something, fashioned really crude-like. It was just lyin’ there in the grass and he picked it up on the way inside. Can’t for the life of me recall what he did with it. I doubt he’d remember now, anyway.” James took another drink, spilling some on his chin and wiping it on his sleeve. He continued.370

“Soon as we got inside the house, Morris was ravin’ on about the place bein’ under siege the night before. There was a whole army of ‘em, he said, wrapped up head-to-toe like A-rabs, all in black. Screamed like banshees, he said, and fought with spears and knives. He was only able to shoot down one of ‘em before they ganged up and knocked him out.”371

Jeremy had been ready to dismiss it all, until he heard his uncle mention the screaming. At that moment, his mind returned him with brutal suddenness to the climax of his walk with Gwen… and whatever it was that had leapt out of the park and pursued them.372

Jimmy laughed, then. “We all had about the same look that’s on your face now, first we heard this stuff. It didn’t make no sense to us either, y’know? Bunch of towelheads attackin’ the Thompsons in the dead of night! You never heard such a load.”373

“I agree,” Jeremy said, though with a very audible stammer. He didn’t want to think about the screaming thing in the night anymore – and he certainly didn’t want to acknowledge that he might believe his drunk uncle’s story, though he was still confused as to where it was headed.374

“Then we heard they’d got to Miss Caroline. That set us all silent, since she hadn’t been down talkin’ to the rest of us, after all. The women – your Gran’ma and your Mom, I suppose she just found out she was carryin’ you at the time – went up to check on her. They came down after a while, and wouldn’t say a word to any of us, just ran straight outside to get some air.375

“Your Dad and me went out after ‘em, asked if what Morris said was true. All your Mom did was nod, and start cryin’. Your Gran’ma, though, she told us that, from the looks of the bedroom, it had been violent, really, really bad. Caroline was sittin’ on the bed, just shakin’ and mumbling nonsense. ‘Ghosts,’ she said, ‘pale as the wind and smelt like empty graves.’ I recall she had a real fierce ringing in her ears for a long time after. Said it was from the screaming that night. Maybe she still has it, I don’t know, as I don’t remember her ever sayin’ it had stopped.”376

The blood threatened to erupt from Jeremy’s veins all over, making his head ache and his hands tremble for the second time that night; his body was getting tired of fear. He could almost have told the rest of the story himself. He didn’t want to hear it, but he realized as he watched his uncle take a big gulp of whiskey that he couldn’t uproot himself from where he stood. If he moved, he would take off running.377

“We found out some time later that Miss Caroline was pregnant. Morris was up in arms over it for all of a day or two, then suddenly got real quiet like he is now. I can’t fathom why they kept her, since even before she was born Morris knew she wasn’t his. Miss Caroline was real religious in those days, though – maybe she’s even moreso now – and wouldn’t hear of abortion. I suppose in her eyes, the rape was God’s punishment for some wicked sin, and raisin’ the bastard would be penance. She was never quite right in the head after the whole thing, anyway.”378

Jeremy had to lick his lips and clear his throat before he could say anything.379

“Why should I believe any of this with that bottle in your hand?” he demanded, perhaps asking himself more than his uncle.380

James took a big drink, finishing off the rest of the fifth. He dropped it, forgotten, onto the porch.381

“I s’pose you don’t have to,” he said, wavering back and forth on the already-treacherous swing. “But it’s the gospel truth. You ask anybody about it. They won’t tell you, but you look at their eyes when you ask. You’ll see.”382

Jeremy had finally managed to get his body to respond to his commands. He had had enough insanity for one night.383

“Good night, Jimmy.”384

As he opened the door to go inside, he heard his uncle try to turn around, and collapse onto the porch. Summoning one last breath into his whiskey-clouded lungs, Jimmy called out to his brother’s son.385

“And find that knife!”386

The boy went inside and hurried upstairs. He climbed into bed, pulled up the sheets, and stared petrified out his window at the blackened landscape for nearly fifteen minutes before realizing that he still had his clothes on.387

Wind curves about the distant, daylit oceans, picking up invisible seeds of dream on its forceful, boundless gusts. As it collides with the twilit western shores of the rocky continent, it calms and swirls, collecting itself to resume the push on east. With great rapidity prevails the oncoming night, cooling the air and forcing the wind down, down, down upon the plains and rolling hills, rushing around mountains and forests, skimming along the currents of its fellow, the water, in rivers and streams, and becoming ever gentler all the way. Beneath the moon, where low breezes are reduced still further to murmuring eddies amongst the high grass, the mighty wind has reached its anticlimax, its virtual halt…the closest thing it ever has to death.388

Here, the seeds of dream it has borne along are inverted into nightmares.389

Night and nightmares; they share more than a name, more than the circadian rhythm of a moving planet. That is to say, they are the oldest objects of mankind’s ever-potent and undeniable fear of the unknown.390

Walking in the night, where the breeze itself is coated with the cold sweat of wicked dream, all things around a man become sources of potential and imminent danger, where any manner of threats can hide from that primary and most fallible of his senses: sight. Indeed, this deprivation is at the very root of his fear. All that was friendly and sunny hours before has become part of an alien world. Animals (or perhaps creatures more horrible?) are seen only by a pair of glowing, blinkless eyes. Trees and buildings alike are titan shadows, and perhaps that hanging thicket of inseparable braches really is the suspended, desiccated corpse it pretends to be.391

Among the twisted corridors of nightmare, men fear more than what cannot be seen; they fear what cannot be understood. A nightmare is always grounded in the familiar, for has it not passed most recently over the landscape that the dreamer calls home? Yet there always is some foreign, subtle element that is somehow so completely wrong that the familiar and beloved become warped into terrible things which the beholder can only loathe. Objects and actions enter the realm of the nonsensical, and when he wakes, the dreamer can only wonder at their significance as he shudders back to sleep.392

There are few ways to release oneself from these age-old terrors, and some may consider the fears the more comfortable option. To truly be free of a thing, a man must come to understand it, to adopt it: to live within it. Only a blind man does not fear the dark.393

For nightmares, there is but one choice: the dreamer must accept as true the most twisted and terrible things she has ever beheld. She must risk the process of the wind being reversed, and the nightmares beginning to influence reality. She must realize that the only way to quiet the whispering voice of the darkness is to answer it.394

From there follows either enlightenment, or madness.395

Gwen Thompson knew that madness lingered outside, and brought it within in hopes of silencing it.396

She was embraced by a quiet thing that smelled of soil and nighttime air. It was warm and strong, just as it had been the first time she had encountered one of its kind. Now, though, it harbored no malevolence. All that radiated from its shrouded form was a desire for catharsis… for making known the truth. She must only listen, and accept.397

The pale girl heard madness whispering at her window, and let it inside398

“Police are investigating reports of a possible disturbance last night in the vicinity of Ophidian Mounds State Park.”399

. Jeremy heard the words through layers of sleep as they drifted up from the TV downstairs. It took only a moment to register in his mind before he threw himself out of bed and onto his feet, standing dizzy until he could focus his energy on moving down towards the serious voice of the female newscaster. Unfortunately, he was only a moment beyond his bedroom door when the obstinate face of his younger sister barred his progress.400

“Rachel, do you mind?” he asked, his voice still crackling with the dryness of slumber.401

“I saw you outside last night,” she narrowed her little eyes, “with her.”402

Jeremy threw up his hands, barely containing his voice to a whisper. “Does everyone know?”403

“I haven’t told anybody,” she said, “but after hearing what Uncle Jeremy told you last night –,”404

“You heard all of that?” he hissed through his teeth. He nearly smacked himself in the forehead when he realized that her bedroom window was right above the porch. She could have easily heard them talking and come down for a closer listen.405

Rachel withdrew a bit, the anger in her face slowly caving in; it was all a front. She had heard James’ tale of dark figures assaulting the Thompson house, and it had chilled her very, very deeply. Jeremy only now noticed the bloodshot cracks in the whites of her eyes. She probably hadn’t caught a moment of sleep.406

“Rachel, everything your uncle said last night was nonsense, okay? Don’t believe a word.”407

“He was there when it happened!” she said, her voice rising.408

“He was probably drunk when ‘it’ happened, just like he was drunk last night!” Jeremy retaliated. “Just forget everything he said, it isn’t true.”409

“Hey!” Jeremy, Sr.’s rough voice called up the stairs, “You two finally come out of hibernation up there? It’s after noon, for Christ’s sake!”410

“Coming down now, Dad!” Jeremy answered. He shot his sister a reminding look, then hopped down the stairs, heading towards the television. The anchorwoman, however, had given up her spotlight to the local weatherman. A massive cold front was moving in, with no signs of heat again until next spring.411

Gwen called just after four o’clock, as the autumn sun waned behind the rolling Midwest hills. She had the rasping in her voice of one just emerging from sleep.412

“Did you hear the news?” she inquired, yawning.413

Jeremy looked a cursory look around, making sure there was no one within earshot of his conversation; his parents may or may not have been paying attention to the TV.414

“Only that people know something was up last night. I didn’t catch the full report.”415

“Well, Morris did, and the house is on high alert right now,” she replied, her voice low, but not without a sardonic twist of humor. “One of the farmers on the news said he had heard a scream like nothing on earth, and that was it for Morris. He’s gathered up his guns and bullets, and he’s got my mother and sister locked up in their rooms.”416

Jeremy shook his head as though he had been slapped. “Against their will?”417

Gwen’s latest yawn was pierced by an exasperated laugh.418

“No,” she said, “they’ve got their doors locked from the inside; they just did it to shut him up. Emily’s really upset over it, she hasn’t been able to talk with her boyfriend all day.”419

“Wait,” Jeremy stopped her, “he didn’t have you hide, like them?”420

Gwen scoffed. “If that thing from the forest comes after me again like it did last night, Morris would use me as a shield.”421

“Oh,” something about what she said struck an odd chord in Jeremy’s head. He didn’t really know how to answer such a statement anyway, so he reverted to asking about more details from the news report.422

“There wasn’t much,” she said, “the locals who went out to chase the thing said they heard it going over the fence into Ophidian Mounds, but when they went around to the front gates, the night watchman turned them away. That’s basically it, and if those guys are anything like Morris, we’re going to have a lot of paranoid, trigger-happy farmers around here.”423

“So, best not to go on any more walks for a while, I’d think,” Jeremy said. He trailed off, however, when he heard the voice of Morris Thompson in the background. His throat tightened up.424

“Nothing,” Gwen said to her father, “just using the phone.”425

More yelling from Morris; Jeremy only heard “– put the damn thing down.”426

“What are you afraid of?” Gwen challenged. “Who could I possibly be calling that would make you so angry?”427

“Put it down NOW!”428

Jeremy couldn’t believe it, but there were sounds of struggling coming through the receiver, Gwen yelling “Get off!”429

Suddenly, Morris’ crazed, heavy breathing came onto the line. Jeremy’s spine turned to tingling ice.430

“This the Potter boy?” malice bled out of the phone’s earpiece. Jeremy couldn’t speak; his words were lost in an empty vacuum. He tried to listen for Gwen’s voice in the background, but heard nothing.431

“Don’t you ever call for her again.”432

Morris slammed the phone down like a guillotine.433

For all the secrets of the city Aurelia, the archaic lands to the north form residence to even more which is not spoken of. Here, there linger not only those things which man covers up by devices of silence or violent threat, but those which are unknown because they have been forgotten… or because they have never been known at all. Who knows what strange treasures lie buried within soil that has never been deformed by a human footprint? The trees whisper of it not when the wind coerces their leaves to speech. No stream or creek would dare betray those unshared tales that hide beneath their murky atmospheres. Lurking animals cannot tell it, for they know it no better than men.434

No, secrets take on a sentient life of their own when none exist to keep them. Though the source is unidentified, their tendrilous effects creep into the life and land around them, working invisible changes that baffle the unknowing and vanish before the discovery of their causes.435

Yet, the very essence of a secret is in the possibility of discovery: the risk of exposure, of being found, of becoming known to those from which it hides. When a secret cannot ever be uncovered, it ceases to be a secret, and instead vaporizes into the cloudy halls of ever-lost mystery. Yes, all forgotten secrets can be happened upon by fleeting chance; the farmer’s plow turns up an arrowhead, the building crew knocks out a wall to reveal a long-sealed vault. And, just the same, all that has been hidden and is still known can certainly be dug up.436

Cobwebs wait poised like trapping nets amongst the antique rafters of the old, rotting barn. It is a corpse, falling apart beneath the picking, predatory elements, and standing through time but for the grace of its mortal maintainers. It smells of rust and straw, and will always smell of these things for as long as it stands. By day, it is a quaint and ramshackle reminder of honest, early morning work in a country where the common man approved the law and the soil was made rich by God himself.437

At night, it reminds one that all things must die.438

A flashlight beam twitches across shadowed, rotten beams where a small child’s imaginings place tiny goblins and mist-bodied ghosts, ready to sneak through the blackness and steal them away, forever and ever. The hand that holds it is indeed shaking in the grip of amorphous fear. The hand’s counterpart digs through assortments of dusty supplies with faded labels, and hanging, rusted metal tools that, even in daylight, suggest a more sinister use than performing farm labor.439

Looking, looking – testing boards, peeking under shelves, kicking aside old piles of hay. Thick gatherings of cobwebs are never disturbed. To brush aside those veils of waiting doom would be to invite the monstrous shadows to collapse.440

No sooner is the shivering light thrown upon an old, webbed-in alcove, than out scurries on crooked legs what appears as a piece of the shadow itself. At once, the light is gone, human presence fled, the barn door left swinging in the nighttime wind. The secret buried here remains undiscovered… for the time being.441

Elsewhere, some have considerably better luck at acquiring secrets.442

Up, away from the empty wooden edifice and its newly light-blind spider; over fields and roads, over a row of trees grown up around an ancient fence with a gap between two sections of land that men fool themselves into thinking is theirs. Up a long, tree-shadowed hill where dark things have come to pass, and where they may well occur again. Finally, into the second-story gateway of the manmade edifice that blasphemes the landscape. Floating here in the foul air between a hush-tongued mouth and a girl’s pale ear, there are secrets of the ages, of worlds unimaginable to those at home beneath the sun, and of rites that strike the young ears as horrible… and empowering.443

She wants to hear more, she says.444

More? he answers, How much more?445

The question is an odd one. All of it, she says.446

He smiles, a grimace neither of them can appreciate as it was meant to be. I will return, he says, and tell you more. But I must have something from you, then.447

What? she asks.448

He will tell her when he returns, he says, but for now, he must go.449

She understands, she says; go safely.450

Farewell, he says, Grheimn.451

She has heard that word before, and asks him what it means.452

He smiles again, and answers, another secret shared. Then he is gone.453

She waits at the window until she can hear him no longer. The word tumbles about within her, uncertain, thorny, dangerous, and illuminating. It could be merely a phrase of affection from an elder to a youth, signifying nothing at all.454

“Grheimn,” she says, smiling as she falls backwards onto her uncomfortable bed.455

It could mean everything in the world to her.456