A Latent Dark Page 6

  Up until this point, Skyla had been rehearsing what she would say: Hello sir or madam, my name is Skyla. I hail from Bollingbrook and I am lost. I am in need of food and lodging. What say you, good sir?

  Instead, what came out of her mouth was a desperate, crazed gibberish. She stopped talking immediately and shrank.

  “Who are you?” he asked. His dark green eyes studied her with distrust, his voice calm. There was a smear of blood on his shirt.

  Skyla was frozen for a full minute before she finally found her voice.

  “Please,” she squeaked out.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, slowly this time, as if he thought she couldn’t understand him.

  “I... I’m lost,” she said, forcing the words out. She felt as though her one opportunity to get a meal might be slipping through her fingers. “Me and Orrin… we—”

  “Who’s Orrin?” he cut her off. His grip on the rifle tightened as he glanced over her shoulder and out into the night. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Oh! Neither do we,” she said quickly. “We just need a place to stay for the night before it rains.”

  “You keep saying ‘we.’ I want to see who ‘we’ is before you take another step.”

  Skyla was about to answer when Orrin landed on the tin roof with a loud squawk. The man dropped the pheasant and swung his rifle upward, taking aim at the raven. He muttered something about vermin as casually as if he were flicking a bug from his coat. Skyla screamed and launched herself into the man’s elbow as the gun discharged. There was an ear-ringing explosion and Skyla felt warm air next to her head as the smell of gunpowder and sweat stung her nostrils.

  The man stumbled backward, disbelief in his eyes as he tried to gain his balance. The gun veered haphazardly off at an angle. He swore and looked at her as though she were insane.

  “That’s Orrin,” she yelled at him, nearly in tears.

  He glared a moment, before bending over to pick the dead pheasant up from the ground, his gaze never leaving her. Skyla was uncomfortably aware of the gun he held, wisps of smoke still rising from its barrel. It ticked mechanically, threateningly, reloading itself. The man walked over to a side door and kicked it open. He then hung the bird by its feet over a bucket where it drained. A wing outstretched elegantly as a paper fan as the bird bled out.

  “You’d better check on your friend,” he said.

  He walked through the door and closed it. Through the window, he pointed across the room to the front door and made a face at her as if to say, Well?

  Skyla walked back around the cabin, dreading what she might find. Her mind filled with images of a broken pile of feathers on the ground.

  The light from inside the cabin spilled out onto the yard. Skyla scanned for any sign of Orrin, a feather or—even though she dared not think of it—a blood trail. She called his name and listened through the rustling trees as rain began spitting through the branches, hitting her face in cold droplets. There was a rustling above her in the pine needles.

  “Orrin?”

  There was a squawk above her. She could barely make out his black outline in the fading light, but he appeared to be all in one piece. He hopped down a couple branches and looked at her, but did not approach any further.

  “Orrin, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea he would react that way.”

  Squawk.

  “Please come down. We can eat and spend the night here. I think he might let us in.”

  Another squawk, but Orrin came no further. He climbed the tree again, stopping a few branches up. She could barely see him anymore.

  “Eat,” he croaked. “Food.” She thought she heard disdain in his voice.

  Skyla glanced from Orrin to the cabin, and then back again.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

  “Eat,” his voice was even further up the branches and it was hard to hear him in the strengthening wind.

  “I’ll try to bring you something,” she said over the rustling noise and howling wind.

  There was no reply but the sound of leaves. She turned toward the cabin.

  She was greeted by an awkward silence at the door as the big man opened it and considered her for a moment.

  “Did I get him?”

  “No,” she said, scowling. “But he’s scared. He won’t come down.”

  The man looked up into the trees. “Well, I imagine he’ll survive. I can never get rid of those things in the summer. Always tearing up my roof and getting into food storage.”

  “He only showed up because he heard us calling his name,” she said. “Otherwise he is very well trained—” She stopped herself short and the man gave her a curious look.

  “I suppose you need a place to stay,” he said.

  Her face brightened. “Is that okay?”

  “You can sleep on the couch. I was about to eat. You can have some too.” He opened the door the rest of the way and stood aside as she entered. “There is a washroom in the back, through the door. You can clean your face.”

  “Thank you so much!” She looked up at him, stumbling over her words. “I promise I’ll stay out of your way. You won’t get anymore trouble from me or from Orrin—”

  “It’s fine,” he said, his expression softening. “What’s your name?”

  “Skyla,” she said. The warmth of the cabin hit her with a luxurious embrace. “Yours?”

  “I’m James,” he said, closing the door. “Go clean up. I hope you like stew because that’s what you’re having.”

  Skyla had almost forgotten how amazing it was to have access to a washroom. A copper bathtub sat at one end of the small room. She glanced at the mirror and gasped at the grimy creature staring back.

  This is what greeted him in the woods. It’s amazing he didn’t try to shoot me and mount my head on a wall.

  As the water ran, the sink quickly filled with dirt, bits of leaves and twigs, not to mention other things she didn’t wish to identify. She even had to scoop some of the elements out of the basin for fear of clogging the drain.

  When she finally toweled off her face she was amazed that she could finally recognize her own reflection. Hazel eyes stared back at her from beneath a mop of damp—but clean—brown curly hair. Freckles peppered her cheeks and ran over the bridge of her nose.

  As she opened the door, the smell of food overwhelmed her. James had already served himself and was seated, hunched over a bowl, slurping. It was the sort of table manners she had expected from a hermit.

  “Dump your things over there on the couch,” he said between gulps. “You can stay here tonight.” There was something very final about the way he said tonight.

  She discarded her items on the couch and covered them with her jacket. She looked around the room before sitting at the table.

  “I can sleep on the floor, really,” she said. “You don’t have to—”

  “Pull-out bed,” he said, spilling some of the soup on his beard. He gestured at the wall that separated the living room and hallway. “It’s up right now.”

  Skyla wasted no time digging at the bottom of the pot with her ladle, hoisting up a pile of meat and vegetables into her bowl. It almost overflowed as she shoveled food into her mouth. James’s eyes followed her movements.

  “You’re from the river.”

  She shook her head, her mouth still full. “Bollingbrook.”

  “Bollingbrook? And you walked to here, and now you are walking… all the way to Lassimir?”

  “I have Orrin,” she said. “I should throw him a scrap.”

  She began to get up, but James stopped her. “Don’t. He’s spooked and you’ll only draw raccoons and possums.”

  “But he’s hungry.”

  “He’s a crow,” James said. “They’re scavengers. He’ll be fine out there.”

  A gust of wind buffeted the building from outside and Skyla gave him a plaintive look. She sat back down with a huff and stared out the window for a moment.

  “He’s a rave
n.”

  “Same thing.”

  “It’s not,” she said. “Ravens are much smarter.”

  “Well, if he’s as smart as you say, then he’ll be fine.”

  James finished his meal and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. He cleared the table in silence. Skyla looked around the interior of the cabin as he took the dishes to a basin in the back. She considered stealing a piece of meat for Orrin, but stopped herself. She had probably overstayed her welcome as it was.

  She got up and walked to the couch, covered in a variety of animal skins, so inviting it made her body ache. Her eyes burning, she removed her shoes. Her toes creaked and cracked as she flexed them, cringing through equal parts pleasure and pain.

  Rain had begun to crawl horizontally across the windowpane, carried by the shrieking wind. Had Orrin been visible right then, it would have broken her heart. She tried to imagine him somewhere safe.

  James emerged from the kitchen wearing a white apron. Skyla stifled a surprised giggle as he wiped his hands on a dishrag.

  “Not sure what the hot water situation is anymore, but you’re welcome to use the tub.” He walked to a closet and threw a flannel shirt over a chair. It was big enough to fit her like an overcoat. “You can dry your things by the—oh. You already got your shoes drying. Good.”

  She scooped up the flannel shirt and dashed into the washroom as James continued to bang around in the kitchen. The copper tub she had been eyeing earlier was every bit as wonderful as she imagined. The water was lukewarm, but still more than adequate. She soaked until she was shivering and the water turned opaque.

  As she dried herself, she found it peculiar that no more noise came from the main room. In fact, the noise from the kitchen all but ceased once she drew the bath. She crept closer to the door and pressed a wet ear up against it. There was suspicious shuffling. Placing a delicate grip on the handle, she cracked the door enough to see.

  Her wet clothes were laid out along the floor in a neat pattern. At first this pleased her that James had been so thoughtful, until she saw him standing over them. His back was hunched and as she watched from the door, his shoulders heaved with a great sob.

  He’s crying, she thought. Why is he crying?

  Had she been such an awful guest? He might be disturbed to live this far out in the middle of nowhere. No family, no friends… no neighbors. She felt a chill begin to work its way down from her scalp.

  Or if he’s crazy, she thought. He’ll kill me in my sleep.

  Then, cast from the glow of the woodstove she saw his shadow dance, a slow, sad lapping of waves and kelp at his ankles. She felt herself drawn to it.

  He took a step back and walked over to her rucksack. He opened it. He reached in!

  Skyla bit her cheek, fighting the urge to yell at him as he pulled out the goggles. He held them in front of his face and played with the hinge. He grabbed the knobs on the side and adjusted those. He gripped the rings around the lens and twisted. Skyla held her breath, fully expecting them to disintegrate him on the spot—not that he doesn’t deserve it, she thought.

  He continued to inspect the goggles for a full minute as Skyla bit her tongue in protest. Appearing satisfied, James placed them neatly back into the bag and turned. Skyla closed the door before he could see her there.

  She stood with her back wet against the wood of the door. She had never felt this level of violation, not even in the schoolyard. She got dressed, her anger fading. His shadow was interesting. Very interesting. She would have to take a better look, maybe after he went to bed.

  The flannel shirt did indeed fit her like an overcoat. She rolled up the sleeves and left the room feeling almost human again. From the kitchen she caught James giving her a suspicious glance as she walked from the washroom.

  He placed the pot on the counter and walked over to meet her in the living room. She sat in front of the couch facing the fire as he passed by her. He lowered himself into the large chair opposite the couch and cleared his throat.

  “I looked in your backpack,” he said.

  Skyla blinked back surprise at the confession. She said nothing.

  “You told me you were from Bollingbrook,” he said. “Those goggles in there, are those from Bollingbrook?”

  “I don’t know where they’re from,” she said. “They were a gift.”

  He gave her an accusatory stare. Adults liked to use it when they thought they were catching you in a lie. She didn’t care for it at all, especially from him.

  James sat with his elbows on his knees now, fingertips steepled as he questioned her. This wasn’t dinner. This was an inquisition.

  “They were a gift,” she said. “From my aunt.”

  “Your aunt lives in Bollingbrook?”

  “No. I don’t know where she lives,” she lied.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She continued to stare at the fire, trying to hide any emotion that might be construed as deceit.

  “So you don’t live with your aunt.”

  “I don’t live with anyone.”

  “You’re orphaned.”

  “No, well. I don’t know. I don’t know my father.”

  “What about your mother?”

  There was a pause. “She was killed.” She didn’t know any other way to say it without sounding insane.

  James raised an eyebrow. “Killed… killed how?”

  She gave him a cold look. “If I told you, you’d think I was crazy.”

  James froze for a moment, and then leaned back in his chair. Skyla turned to the fire and stared at it, trying to cleanse her mental palette of this conversation.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m… sorry about the way I treated your pet bird. I’ll leave something out for him overnight.”

  “You said he’d be fine on his own.”

  He looked as if she had slapped him. She felt small, small enough for him to crush under his boot if he wanted to.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Thank you.”

  They sat in silence as the conversation drowned in its own awkwardness, each of them lost in their own thoughts, until Skyla interrupted the quiet with a monstrous yawn. James got up on cue and grabbed a bundle of skins from a pile and a blanket from a chest. He threw them onto the couch and then walked over to the wall.

  He grabbed a hidden latch. Skyla watched with amazement as the entire side of the wall unfolded in an elaborate display of wooden hinges and swivels. The wall panels swung underneath silently, as a complete and sturdy bed appeared out of nowhere.

  “That’s… that’s really neat,” she said.

  James stood next to it with pride. “Thanks. I made it ages ago.”

  Skyla yawned again and James vanished into the back room. When he returned, Skyla had to stifle another giggle. She had thought he looked ridiculous in the apron, but now in long red pajamas, the apron look refined by comparison. He seemed oblivious to this as he went around the house to extinguish every lantern and check every lock. He then crawled into his bed and mumbled something that could have been “goodnight.”

  Skyla lay on the couch watching the fire die a slow death until the coals glowed and coughed sparks into the air. The rain stopped and now the loudest sound in the room was James’s snoring, rhythmic and comforting. She thought of Orrin and tried to imagine him in a safe warm place.

  She dreamt of the raven, flying over a moving landscape where herds of luminescent antelope grazed and sparred. As she flew with him over the world she saw a tree in the distance, larger than any mountain, its branches holding up the sky. A castle came into view—no, not a castle. It was a huge building, though. He flew in through a window, spiraling down, and down through an immense hall. At the very bottom was a girl, not much older than herself, with dark hair and a swirling black gown. She held out an arm as Orrin came to rest on it.

  The girl opened her mouth to speak—

  *

  Skyla caught her breath, scanning the darkened room, no longer lit by the cast-iron sto
ve. It was hard at first to put her finger on what was wrong. Then she realized James was no longer snoring. The only sound in the room was the distant and occasional drip of the pheasant, still shedding the last of its blood.

  James was still, his eyes open. Something shimmered in the corner of the room, behind the stove, and Skyla thought at first that Orrin had picked the lock and gotten in. She hoped he would come sleep by her side—

  What she saw move in the corner was not Orrin, though it was small and black as a tarred stone.

  Oh no, she thought. It’s happening again. It’s coming for me this time.

  It was smaller than the one that had been in her house. It uncurled from the corner, a giant black millipede, reflecting dim light in a way that almost made it look concave, inverted and difficult to focus on. Its many legs and arms unfolded at different lengths as it skittered across the room with alarming speed. Chicka-chicka-chicka went those jointed legs.

  It stretched from the wall, but never detached from it. A black sinewy umbilical connected it to the darkest corner of the room. A hermit crab, pulled from its shell. The creature moved with surprising grace and fluidity, dashing between their beds. Its many limbs felt the objects around it as it maneuvered deftly across the floor, hugging the shadows. Chicka-chicka-chicka…

  Skyla swallowed a scream as it crept with sickening grace up the leg of James’s bed, the blankets indenting slightly as the delicate chitin tendrils scrambled up and over his thigh. It rose in the air, unfolding more limbs from inside its flat body until it was a huge black umbrella made of spider legs.

  It hovered just above the sleeping figure, dwarfing him. Tiny tentacles emerged from the front where a mouth should be, delicate and lacelike. They filtered down through the air until they rested like feathers on his cheek. James twitched wildly, eyes open, his mouth set in a gaping silent scream, his body convulsing. As it hovered over the sleeping man, it flexed and shrank like a drifting jellyfish. Grotesque legs pinned the shaking man to the bed as his eyes, bulging wide with terror, stared at nothing, rapt in seizure.

  Skyla screamed.

  The effect was immediate. The tendrils withdrew as if shocked, the creature retreating into the corner, folding into itself like an impossible origami sculpture. In seconds, it was gone as if it had never existed.