by Sara Clancy
“Three hours of decent sleep a night?”
“Plus light, fitful sleep,” she nodded.
Logan huffed and finally took the sip of his drink. “How the hell does he function?”
“Sarcasm and spite,” Nicole said. “I asked him once.”
Logan’s brow furrowed as he started to crank the math in his head, trying to calculate just how many murders Benton’s been forced to ‘commit’ in his lifetime.
“He’s just a kid,” he said at last. “Is there any way to keep him from dreaming?”
“Not that I know of. And he’s not too keen to look.” At her father’s expression, she continued, “Banshees are only omens, Dad. They’re supposed to give warnings, not save anyone. Sometimes we get lucky. Sometimes, it’s enough. But if he doesn’t dream, that’s their one shot gone, and he knows it.”
Chuckling sadly to herself, she fussed with the mugs on her tray. “I know he’s, well, he’s Benton.”
Logan scoffed in understanding.
“But he’s got a good heart. He’d never be able to live with the guilt of letting someone die if he could help it.”
Logan nodded again, staring at the contents of his glass. “You have to do something. He can’t go on like this forever.”
“He’s strong. Or stubborn, depending on how you look at it. Even when it was ruining his life, even though it takes a bit out of him each time, he keeps going.”
“Explain that last bit?”
“He’s not an observer when he dreams. He becomes the murderer. When he wakes up, he’s a little disorientated and can easily forget who he is for a while.”
“So he wakes up thinking he’s a serial killer?” Logan’s voice was like ice.
Nicole bristled. “Dad, I can handle Benton. Turns out, I’m pretty good at this kind of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Banshee care.”
“That’s not a thing.”
Not wanting to dignify that with a response, she grabbed the tray. “Can we just agree that, with everything else he has to deal with, he shouldn’t have to wake up alone?”
Logan pressed his lips into a thin line. It was something he did when he would rather gnaw his own foot off than admit defeat. Nicole took the win and headed back upstairs.
“Feel free to have more of those cookies,” she called back.
Logan’s voice followed her, “I’ll see those cookies in hell!”
Dorothy took off like an Olympic sprinter the moment Nicole stepped back into her bedroom. It was the standard procedure. Until Benton had completely settled, he wasn’t to be left alone. Sparing a quick smile, the Constable collected her mug and rushed from the room. She wouldn’t be back for the rest of the night. Her job was to put Benton’s warning into action. Nicole’s was waiting for her in the exact place she had left him.
Setting the tray on the bedside table, she presented him with his hot chocolate and cookies. Now sitting against the headboard, knees pulled up to his chest, he munched mindlessly on the cookie. It was kind of astounding to watch him eat. She knew how much chili she put in those things. While he was distracted, she grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed, the one kept aside specifically for these moments. It was a massive feather down quilt; warm but light, perfect for one-handed maneuvering. In no time at all, they were cocooned within the fluffy comfort, cups clasped in hand, and Benton’s head on her shoulder. Benton hadn’t moved from his spot during the whole process. So it was a bit of a surprise when his hand slipped out just far enough for him to start on the second cookie.
“Benton burrito,” she whispered with a slight chuckle.
Cookie clasped between his lips, he mumbled, “I’ve asked you to stop saying that.”
“You asked, and I declined.”
A grumble of protest left his throat even as he shifted closer. It was then that she noticed the thick, dark lines that circled his slender neck.
“What happened?” Instantly, she had one mug-warmed hand gently pressed against the marks.
“I don’t think your dad likes me.”
Caught off guard by confusion, she stammered, “What? When did this happen?”
“On the road.” He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “You were unconscious at the time.”
“Right.”
“I’m really sorry I hurt you. I don’t remember doing it.”
Nicole scoffed. “I’m fine. Really. A slight headache, that’s all.”
The mug rose up from under the blanket and Benton took a small sip. “I’ll show you my memories if you show me yours.”
She smiled but rolled her eyes. Why can’t anyone in my life tell a decent joke? Between them, they swiftly worked out a basic timeline. Since she didn’t have much to offer and he had been asleep for most of it, there were a few glaring holes. The mention of the unseen creature prickled something in the back of her mind. It infuriated her that she couldn’t pinpoint why.
“At least it wasn’t my jeep this time,” she said cheerfully.
“That truly is the most important thing,” Benton nodded.
She waited for him to take another sip.
“Do you normally sleepwalk?” she asked.
He shrugged one shoulder, the motion barely visible under the piled-up blanket. “If I do, no one’s mentioned it.”
“Where were you going?”
One eyebrow inched up towards his hairline. “Is that rhetorical, or do you think I have an answer to that?”
“Just thinking out loud,” she noted. “Do you think the animal you saw has anything to do with it?”
His second eyebrow joined the first.
“You can have an uninformed opinion, Benton.”
Taking a long sip, he spoke over the rim. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
She sighed dreamily. “Wouldn’t it be fantastic if it were?”
“Life goals.”
Fatigue dragged down his eyelids until he could barely keep them open. His head became a steadily increasing weight upon her shoulder, but she didn’t try to take the still half-full mug from his hands. Benton was the only person she knew who could sleep without any risk of spilling a drop. The morning light strengthened as they sat there. In summer, it would paint her room in hues of pink. Winter clouds smothered it, transforming it into shades of gray, sharp yellow.
Only a few hours separated them from the school day. She was torn between sneaking in as much sleep as she could and trying to figure out what happened to the projects she had been checking in the car. Warm and comfortable, sleep won out. She, however, really needed to put her mug aside before sloshing it over herself.
Just as she tittered on the edge of sleep, her father came barreling into the room, crashing like a bull to the window. Jarred out of their doze, Benton and Nicole shared a look before turning their questioning gaze to Logan. At this point, he had wrenched the window open and squeezed his wide shoulders through the gap.
“Hey, dad,” Nicole said softly. “What’s going on?”
Logan pulled back, mouth slack and deep lines forming between his scrunched eyebrows. “Nicole, Angel, why are there hoof prints on the roof?”
Chapter 5
Benton’s breath turned into mist before him as he slowly collected his books. He was already the last person left inside of the makeshift ‘demountable’. A pipe had snapped on the first really cold night. Luckily, it had only flooded one room.
Unfortunately, while Fort Wayward had a wealth of open space, there was a distinct lack of unused areas. Every room of the small building was taken for the whole stretch of the day. If someone hadn’t thought of using the school bus, they probably would have been having class in the hallways. The aged heater struggled against the cold and frost clinging to the windows. But between their winter gear and the fur blankets supplied by the PTA, it wasn’t all that unpliant. It actually worked better for Benton. The cold kept him awake and alert. The 68-ounce Thermos of his favorite coffee Nicole gave him eve
ry morning helped too.
Zipping up his backpack, Benton reluctantly headed down the bus stairs. The others had destroyed the snowdrift that had been steadily building up against the side of the vehicle, carving small pathways that kept him from being buried knee deep in the light powder.
Free period.
His pace slowed at the thought, and he took the long way around the yard. The gym class was already out, working together to set up large wooden targets at various distances. Half hidden under his hood, Benton watched them work. He doubted that any other school would decide archery was the perfect winter sport, and he was admittedly a little resentful. Nicole sucked at baseball, making gym the only subject where her grades were worse than his. Benton didn’t include math. He was only good at it because he had dreamt of a cannibalistic accountant.
As petty as it was, he had enjoyed having some bragging rights. Then they had made the switch. As the only ‘city boy’ in the rural town, he had been unceremoniously cast down to the worst in class. To keep out of the way of the archers, and to buy himself a little more time, Benton rounded the building to enter through the front. The snow was thinner there, having nothing to block its path as it swept through the town. A thin layer of sleet crackled under his feet, and the chill was starting to bite.
He heard the squawk just as he reached for the door. A familiar, rough sound.
“Bird?” He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find the great horned owl swooping for his shoulder.
The local owl population seemed to have accepted Benton as one of their own. Camaraderie amongst death omens and all that. Bird, in particular, took advantage of any opportunity to land on him. But the air remained empty. Sure that he had heard it, Benton scanned the small expanse of grass that separated the school from Main Street. A soft breeze rustled the flurries that had yet to settle. The street was empty. Everything was still.
A sudden thrashing made him jump. His head snapped around, tracing the sound only to find that a nearby tree obscured his view. Inching forward, he snaked one hand into his jacket pocket and grabbed his mobile phone. His first instinct was to call Nicole, or Dorothy, as he inched closer still to the building’s edge. Bird’s frustrated squawk coaxed him forward. With one hand clasping his phone, he braced the other against the brick wall and leaned forward, peeking around the corner while keeping his body protected.
Bird flopped and thrashed a few yards from his hiding place. His massive wings kicked up the snow, creating a shifting white haze around him as he struggled, his legs trapped by something unseen. Benton shifted his weight, stretching his body to try and get a better look. Then froze.
The skin at the back of his neck prickled as his gut twisted sharply. Breath stuck in his throat, Benton twisted around and searched every inch of space he could see for whatever was watching him. Low, fat clouds covered the sky, muting the light into a perpetual twilight. Still, there was nowhere dark enough for a monster to hide. Instead of bringing him comfort, the light left him feeling exposed.
Grab Bird and run. The thought slammed into Benton’s mind with the force of a sledgehammer. The realization of how stupid that idea was came racing in its wake, but it was already too late. He stood a few feet away from his hiding place. Cool air swept around him, a shifting reminder that he had wandered from the safety of the herd.
The now frantic bird drew his eyes back. Loose feathers drifted down around the now still figure. Bird’s head had twisted around as if severed from his body, his large, ebony eyes locking onto Benton with an unwavering intensity. The snow at Bird’s talons shifted. It was a tiny movement. Something Benton wouldn’t have noticed at all if it wasn’t for the animal’s sudden stillness. The small patch of ground rolled like the open ocean; undulating around the animal while never shifting him from his perch. With a sudden heave, Bird rose about a foot in the air.
Benton staggered back as an arm, as pale as the surrounding snow, broke free of the earth. It gouged the ground for purchase, crushing the thin layer of sleet while a rounded back heaved and bulged. A sudden, violent jerk allowed a second arm to join the first.
Benton ran.
Bird’s feral shrieks followed him, mingling with a violent flapping of colossal wings and a rush of crackling snaps. The sound drew nearer and he chanced a glance behind. The humanoid creature slithered over the frozen grass on its stomach like a serpent, consuming the distance between them as its bird head stretched its massive wings.
His backpack smacked against his spine as he pushed himself faster, the weight dragging him down while the book edges gouged painfully into tender flesh. The harsh material of his snow jacket bunched under his fingers as he ripped at the straps of his backpack. He almost choked himself getting it off but it was worth it. Without it, he was able to gain back a few precious inches of separation.
Shielding his head with both arms, he threw himself at the school’s glass front doors. They slammed open under his weight, and mercifully didn’t break. Flailing his long limbs and groping blindly against the wall, Benton barely managed to catch himself before he fell against the floor. The rubber soles of his sneakers squeaked wildly in the empty hallway.
Lockers lined the long, straight corridor, separated only by a handful of closed classroom doors. A natural sprinter, Benton locked his gaze on the corner at the end of the hallway and barreled towards it. His legs barely protested, the distance too small to strain them. He didn’t look back. He didn’t slow down as he raced the monster behind him to the corner. The Fort Wayward high school didn’t have a confusing layout. He just had to get around the corner before him and the internal double doors to the gym would be in sight. Sharp claws raked against the floor as the monstrosity closed in behind him. Grunted snarls tainted the air with rancid breath.
The end of the hallway came all too soon. Benton dropped, balancing on his right knee while straightening his left leg. The monster’s body was too large and cumbersome to mimic the sudden slide. Momentum took it into the wall. The metallic groan of buckling locker doors rattled alongside the creature’s furious scream. It swiped at his head, pale hand clawed and tipped with razors. At the same moment, Benton’s foot hit the wall, allowing him to push off and lurch back onto his feet. The nails found the flesh at the back of his neck but couldn’t sink deep enough to keep him back.
“Nicole!”
He screamed the name as loud as his lungs would allow. Scorching droplets of blood carved paths over his chilled skin. The lockers whined and thrashed, marking the creature’s movements. Sparks spewed against the side of Benton’s face as the beast lashed out again.
“Nicole!”
Classroom doors started to open around him, but Benton didn’t care enough to focus on any of it. The only thing that mattered was the gym’s double doors. They filled the end of the hallway, beckoning him, promising a slim chance at survival. She was never late to class. All he had to do was make it inside, and he wouldn’t be alone. The doors loomed before him. Curling his spine and tucking his chin to his chest, he threw his shoulder into the door.
“Nicole!”
They opened easily. His feet knocked together, ruining his balance and tripping him. He barely had time to register the teacher standing in front of him before he was ripping the baseball bat from her hands. The fact that she had it was a small miracle that he wasn’t going to question. The familiar sensation of dense wood made relief explode within him. Twisting his torso, he swung the bat with every ounce of strength his body could summon.
Unable to compensate for the movement, he fell. The unrelenting floor collided with his spine as the bat found something of flesh and bone. It was oddly satisfying. Even as pain jolted through his ribs and his head cracked against the floor. The pain brought tears to his eyes. Blinking past them, he stared in utter bewilderment at the stag that slumped beside him.
“Get up,” the teacher stammered.
The stag’s antlers scrammed against the ground, adding a heavy thud to its thrashing. A hand roughly g
rabbed the back of Benton’s jacket, dragging him up. He stumbled to get his feet under him, all the while searching for the slithering monster. It was gone, replaced by a herd of bucks that bashed against each other as they surged in a stampede through the hallway.
“Everyone, get on the stage!”
The few students still frozen in fear snapped into action at the teacher’s scream.
A raised platform at the far end of the cavernous room allowed the gym to double as the town’s events hall. The scattering of students fled to it now, a living flood of panicked chaos. It grew worse as the stags barreled over the threshold. The floor vibrated and the wall rattled. Something crashed against his back, throwing him off of his feet and forcing him into a slide. The wall of the stage stopped him. Head spinning and vision blurring, he was only vaguely aware of the others scrambling up onto the stage, a few of them reaching down to help the others.
Instinct moved his body before he could make sense of the spikes driving down upon him. A heavy crack rattled along his arms and shoved him back against the low wall. Wood splinters burst out around him, cracking off of the wall as the longest antler spikes bore through the slats. Benton’s brain finally caught on to what was happening when the snorting buck surged forward again. The baseball bat was clutched between his hands and lodged with a curve of the antlers. His elbows were locked but quickly gave way. The wall was holding it back, not him, and it was quickly giving way. He folded his legs up, twisting and shoving, narrowly keeping his feet out from under the stag’s stomping hooves. A scream welled in his throat, and he clenched his teeth against it. He knew what happened when strangers saw what he could do.
A low whoosh rolled under the shrieks and thuds. Benton jerked as blood splashed across his face. The stag stammered and trembled before it fell. Its antlers gouged in the wood forced its neck onto a strange angle, creating a narrow space that Benton could hide in and not get crushed. An arrow protruded from its lifeless eye.