Children of the Dark Page 7

  “Screw you.”

  I made an innocent face. “What? I love play dates.”

  “Damn it, Will,” he grumbled. He grabbed a DVD case—a horror movie called The Descent—and chucked it at me. He missed, of course. “I can’t help what my mom says.”

  “Relax,” I said. “Your mom’s really cool.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You making fun of her?”

  “Simmer down, okay? I wouldn’t make fun of your mom. She’s nicer to me than my own mom is.”

  That seemed to satisfy him. “I’m glad you came over, actually.”

  “Yeah?”

  He nodded. “I wanted to talk to you about something. I mean, I need to talk to you and Chris both, but since Chris is on house arrest, I’ll settle for just you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Remember that thing Mia saw in the woods last night?”

  I smiled. “You mean the giant Gollum with green eyes and white skin?”

  Barley’s brows pinched together in what I realized was real fear. “Don’t joke about it, man. This is really bad.”

  I sobered a little, but I failed to see what the big deal was. I said so.

  Barley sat forward, his bare, sweaty calves squelching a little on the beanbag. Barley perspired more than anyone I knew. “Don’t you remember the legends, Will?”

  “Not that stuff again. You mean the wildebeest?”

  “Wendigo,” he said, enunciating each syllable with the gravest respect.

  “Why don’t you refresh my memory?”

  “You’re so dense,” he said, but I could tell he was warming to his topic. “It all started thousands of years ago, back when the only people in the area were the Algonquins and the Iroquois.”

  I settled into the beanbag. Barley was a dork, but he was a good storyteller.

  He pushed his shaggy brown hair off his forehead. “My dad got most of this from Frank Red Elk—”

  “You mean that weirdo who lives way out in the woods?”

  “That weirdo,” Barley said, as if I’d just insulted the Pope, “happens to be the only full-blooded Native American left in the area.”

  “I thought he was a drunk who’s always chasing women.”

  Barley waved that off. “So? He’s still an impressive guy. Would you want to mess with him?”

  Barley had a point there. Red Elk was about six-three, and he was built like a slab of granite. I hadn’t seen him often, but when I did, I was always a little intimidated.

  “Red Elk comes into the store a lot,” Barley said. “You know, for gas and other things.”

  I nodded. “Like whiskey and condoms.”

  “Show some respect!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Anyway, the store doesn’t do a ton of business in the evenings, so when folks come in, they end up talking to Dad.” Barley shrugged. “You know how easy Dad is to talk to.”

  I nodded. Mr. Marley was indeed easy to talk to. He wasn’t exactly heroic-looking. Bespectacled. A fairly sizable belly. Only about five-foot-five. And older, for a man with two kids still in school. But Mr. Marley was also one of the nicest guys I knew. If I could choose a dad, he’d be the one.

  “Some nights Red Elk comes by near closing time, and he—”

  “Skip to the part about the Whack-a-Mole.”

  “Wendigo,” he corrected. “Jeez you’re an idiot sometimes. Anyway, Red Elk was all keyed up one night—this was a few months ago. He asked Dad how much propane it would take to blow up a house.”

  “I often wonder that myself. You have any propane lying around?”

  “Dad asked him why he’d want to blow up a house. Red Elk said he’d been seeing things. Peculiar things. Pale figures darting through the trees. Weird clittering sounds right outside his window.” Barley shivered. “White faces with green eyes watching him from the woods.”

  I suddenly didn’t feel at all like laughing.

  “Dad asked him what that had to do with propane. Red Elk said, ‘Maybe I want to make sure I’ve got a last line of defense in case they come after me.’”

  “They?”

  Barley shrugged. “They call them the Children. They live underground. Red Elk said they’d been in the area since way before the Algonquins and the Iroquois settled here. Said the Children were the reason the Native Americans left Peaceful Valley. That too many people were getting eaten alive by them. And dragged down into the caves.”

  “I’d move too,” I said. “But why do they call them Children? Whose children are they?”

  “The Wendigo,” Barley explained. “The biggest beast of them all.”

  My heart began to thump. I knew there were caves in the Peaceful Valley area. They were a big reason why the land was being made into a state park, the Peaceful Valley Nature Preserve. Hell, there were caves in the Hollow near my house. But this stuff about the Children…that was a different matter entirely. Was it possible Red Elk really did know something the rest of the town didn’t?

  Mia would certainly believe him.

  Barley’s eyes shone. “Supposedly, the Children are huge. Legend says ten feet tall or more. They’re the most fearsome cryptids on the planet.”

  “Cryptids?”

  Barley rolled his eyes. “Don’t you know anything? Monsters. They murder, devour, or change you into one of them. Legend has it they went on a rampage and killed everyone in the area. It wasn’t until much later that the land was resettled.” Barley nodded solemnly. “But the beasts were never defeated, were they? They just went underground.”

  I shivered a little. “Can we stop talking about cryptids?”

  Barley didn’t seem to hear me. “God, with the Children and the Moonlight Killer both on the loose, who knows how many people could die?”

  “First of all, the Children are a fairy tale. They don’t exist. And Padgett’s on the run. He’s not gonna go on a killing spree.”

  Barley looked at me meaningfully. “Have they caught him yet?”

  I grudgingly admitted they hadn’t.

  “Still,” he said. “The thing with Padgett scares me less than what Mia saw last night.” He shook his head. “I truly hope the Children aren’t real.” He nodded at his new poster. “They make Hannibal Lecter look like a benevolent guy.”

  “What’s so terrible about them?”

  “They’re twice as tall as human beings, and about three times as strong.”

  “So they’re like LeBron James.”

  “LeBron James doesn’t eat people,” Barley said. “And he doesn’t have an affinity for female victims.”

  I felt a chill. “Red Elk said that?”

  “I hate to say this, Will, but I almost wish Mia had seen Carl Padgett last night rather than a creature with huge green eyes.”

  “Now there’s a happy thought.”

  “I mean it,” he said, his eyes big and earnest. “I’m scared of something happening, what with the storm coming and everything.”

  “What storm?”

  He looked at me like I was a simpleton. “The one that’s going to hit on Monday? You seriously haven’t heard about it?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been busy.”

  “It’s supposed to be the biggest one in years. Like, tons of damage and enough rain to flood Mt. Everest. They’re already talking about power losses and millions of dollars of damage.”

  I chuckled at the terror on his face. “You act like we’re in danger, Barley. This is Indiana.”

  He shook his head solemnly. “I don’t know, man. I’m picking up some seriously bad vibes here. I think it’s gonna be a lot worse than anybody believes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen, Barley. We’re completely safe.”

  But it turned out, we weren’t.

  The first murder happened that night.

  Chapter Five

  The Heart-stopping Note, the Broken Church and the Moonlit Abduction

  When I got home from Barley’s, it was nearing four o’clock.
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br />   My house was empty, which meant Peach was probably still on her play date, and my mom…well, who knew where my mom was? Given the uneasiness of our recent truce, I was in no hurry for her to return home. It had been beyond weird being in the same room with her that morning, and if I could avoid a repeat of the same stilted interaction, I would.

  I was so lost in thought that I almost didn’t notice the note sticking out of the screen door. When I opened the door, the white piece of paper fluttered to the porch. My pulse suddenly racing, I picked it up and read the typed words…

  Hi, Will. I heard you got in trouble last night. I’m sorry. I feel like it was my fault. And I’m sorry for freaking out on you in the creek. I can still see that face. Those eyes. That terrible grin.

  It makes me shiver.

  And so do you, to tell you the truth. Every time I think about you I feel like I’ve got the flu or something (only without the coughing and the sneezing). If it wasn’t already obvious, I really like you. I have for a long time. But it’s hard because Brad is my best friend’s brother. I want to break up with him, but he’s just so…possessive. But I want you to know how I feel. I really, really like you, Will. You’re nice to me. You’re funny. You’re a little shy sometimes, but that’s actually a welcome change from Brad. He’s never been shy in his life. In fact, he thinks everybody should bow down to him like he’s an emperor.

  Anyway. I didn’t write you to moan about Brad. I wrote so you’d know how I feel. And I feel a lot. For you. Does that sound stupid? It probably does, but oh well. It’s true.

  So how about this…

  Meet me and Rebecca and Kylie Ann tonight at your treehouse (Bet you didn’t think we knew where it was, did you?). We’ll be there at midnight. If you can’t come, I won’t be mad at you.

  But I hope you can come.

  Love,

  Mia

  I reread the letter, then reread it one more time, paying special attention to the words, “I really, really like you, Will.” I realized my palms were sweating, and the paper was beginning to soak through around the edges where I was clutching it. I wiped my hands on my cargo shorts before I realized that those were just as sweaty. I entered the house and went directly to my bedroom, where I stashed the note inside the very back of my top dresser drawer where I knew Peach couldn’t get to it. She could be nosy, and I didn’t want her discovering this particular treasure

  It meant too much to me.

  My stomach queasy but my steps light, I moved into the bathroom and twisted on the shower.

  While I waited for it to warm up—our water heater was about a decade older than my mom—I sprawled out on the floor and did as many pushups as I could, which turned out to be twenty-one. That wasn’t a lot, I knew, but it was better than sixteen, my previous high.

  I stood up and looked at my chest in the mirror.

  Still concave.

  I took a deep breath and flexed.

  Hardly any difference.

  Crestfallen, I leaned toward the mirror and inspected my chin and cheeks for signs of whiskers.

  Nothing.

  I sighed. Stringbean, I thought.

  Would you relax? a voice answered. Mia already saw you with your shirt off, and she still likes you, remember?

  Though that didn’t reassure me much, it was something. Mia did like me. Or at least she said she liked me.

  (very, very much)

  The queasy feeling returned to my guts. What if she was just messing with me? What if her and Rebecca were merely teasing me and Chris as some kind of cruel entertainment?

  They can’t be, I thought. It was too terrible to consider.

  An even ghastlier notion occurred to me. What if Brad and Kurt had put Mia and Rebecca up to it? It would explain a lot. After all, wasn’t it too great a coincidence for Mia and Rebecca to invite us over to the Ralstons’ house the night after we’d humiliated their boyfriends on the baseball diamond?

  Oh my God, I thought. It all made sense.

  Then I remembered Mia’s fingers on my hip, the smooth feel of her skin. Her measureless blue eyes.

  No way, I decided. The episode in the creek had not been faked. Mia really liked me. The note was sincere. It had to be.

  Feeling better, I climbed into the shower, let the seething spray assault me, and thought of how exciting it would be to see Mia again tonight.

  Then Barley’s words came back to me: …too many people were getting eaten alive by them. And dragged down into the caves.

  “Ridiculous,” I said aloud, and lathered my hair with shampoo, the expensive stuff my mom bought for herself and that Peach and I were to under no circumstance use. I felt a childish, vengeful pleasure as I poured triple the necessary amount into my palm and used it to wash my arms and legs.

  …an affinity for female victims, Barley’s voice repeated in my mind.

  My smile faded.

  No, I thought. I needed to stop fretting about fairy tales. I wasn’t going to miss tonight. Not for anything.

  Compressing my lips, I squeezed more of mom’s shampoo into my palm and began to scrub my feet with it.

  ¨

  Barley couldn’t get over the fact that the girls knew about the treehouse. “How the hell did they find out about it?” he demanded. “Do you guys realize the implications of this? What if they’ve been listening to us all this time? What if they’ve heard the stuff we say about girls?”

  Chris and I, both of us dressed nicer than usual and smelling too strongly of cologne, merely leaned back on our respective lawn chairs. I’d toted them up the ladder earlier that evening so the girls would have better things to sit on than five-gallon buckets. Barley had actually combed his hair, though now it was parted too neatly, like a first grader getting prepped for picture day.

  “I mean, what did they do,” he ranted, “follow us to see where we were going? Or did they pay someone for information? Like Will’s little sister?”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “You think they bribed Peach?”

  He shrugged. “It’s possible. Girls can be ruthless. Some of the most violent crimes in American history have been perpetrated by women.”

  “Peach is six years old,” I said. “She doesn’t have any interest in money. Now if they paid her in Twizzlers and Nerds…”

  “Hold on,” Chris said. “Why are we sure they know where the treehouse is?”

  Barley looked at Chris like he was an idiot. “Um, because they said so? Wasn’t that sort of a giveaway?”

  Something clicked in my mind. It was like I picked up on Chris’s train of thought. That happened a lot to us, which was really weird. It was like we were on the same wavelength or something, like we’d been separated at birth.

  Chris said, “We did tell them about the treehouse, remember? Last night on the way to the creek?”

  Barley was nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah…you might be right. I was sort of nervous. I must’ve checked to make sure my fly wasn’t open about sixty times.”

  “I don’t blame you for being nervous,” Chris said. “Being matched up with Kylie Ann had to be kind of scary.”

  Barley grunted. “We weren’t matched up. Hell, she barely tolerated me. Unlike Casanova over here—” He flapped a hand at me. “—I still can’t believe she stripped down to her bra.”

  “Shut up,” I snapped.

  Barley flinched. “Hey, take it easy. It’s not like I talked about her boobs or anything.”

  “You just did,” Chris pointed out.

  Barley smiled sheepishly. “I guess I did. But they were really nice though, weren’t they? Round and dark and—”

  I was out of my chair, my hands shoving Barley hard. He went stumbling back, fell, and before I knew it I was standing over him, my fists clenched.

  “Hey,” he said, palms up, “take it easy, Will. Jesus, it’s not like I said anything that offensive.”

  “It was offensive enough,” I said. “Stop talking about her like that.”

  Chris watched me uneasily. “
Calm down, man. You talk about tits all the time.”

  “It’s different when you know the girl.”

  “But it shouldn’t be,” he answered.

  And as it usually did, something in Chris’s tone brought me back from whatever bloodred cloud I was in. In kindergarten the teacher had a conference with my mom because every time I got a question wrong I’d yank out my hair in clumps. Then they started making me see a child psychologist, which really sucked ass. Thankfully, the lady they were taking me to charged too much, and my mom’s insurance wouldn’t pay for it. So they left me—and my temper—alone.

  Chris and Barley were watching me. The tension in the treehouse, which was only about twelve feet-by-twelve to begin with, made the space seem even smaller.

  “I’m going down to meet the girls,” I muttered.

  “I’ll come with you,” Chris said.

  Barley scrambled to his feet. “What, and leave me here? No freaking way.”

  “You stay here,” I said to Chris. “I need a few minutes alone.”

  Chris looked disappointed, but he saw that I meant it. Sometimes only time could calm me down. Time and solitude. Going in search of the girls would provide both.

  I made it to the bottom of the ladder and began walking a narrow squiggle of dirt that wasn’t even a trail. It was merely a slender strip, no wider than a foot, carved through the tall weeds in a meandering pattern that made it difficult to stay on it without stumbling into the poison ivy and nettles. We kept it that way for a reason. We didn’t want other people, especially jerkoffs like Brad and Kurt and Eric, to learn the treehouse’s location. It was our place, the one spot on the planet where we could go and not have to worry about parents or teachers or bullies.

  And the more I pondered it, the more I realized there was no conceivable way the girls could know where it was. At least, not precisely. They might know the general direction of the treehouse, but they’d never find the place without a guide. In fact, the girls might even now be lost in the forest.

  My protectiveness of Mia kicked in, and I doubled the pace of my footsteps.