A Land of Never After

by R. L. Davennor

  Though it should have needed winding by now, the music never stopped.

  The passage of time became irrelevant. I remained where I was, eyes closed and skin so frigid it hurt. At least my cuts had frozen over, clotting the blood instantaneously. Not that I’d have cared either way. None of it would matter soon.

  It could have been five seconds later, or it could have been five years, but eventually, I pushed myself upright. Nothingness greeted me with open arms. No light, no sound but the music, and no presence of any kind—not even the wind.

  If not for the pair of glowing yellow eyes, I might have believed I was dead.

  At least… they looked like eyes. Their contents were moving, swirling like liquid fire, but the irises were much too slender to belong to any creature I could name. Narrowing my gaze, I shook my head.

  “You’re not real—none of this is.” Perhaps if I voiced it aloud, it might end up being true. But no matter how many times I repeated it, the orbs remained; unwavering, unblinking.

  The body they belonged to stepped into view.

  The creature was as horrifying as it was fascinating. An impressive pair of intricate antlers fed into the skull—which was completely visible, from the crown all the way to the sharp, bared teeth. A forked tongue flicked back and forth, but whether it was tasting the air or me, I couldn’t be sure. Dark brown fur covered the rest of its wolf-like body, but it was patchy and unkempt, reminding me of the mangy dogs that often roamed around the orphanage. Worst of all was the smell: putrid, rotting death. It soon became apparent why. Open wounds dotted the creature’s body, most exposing bone and muscle, and all crawling with maggots. The sight alone summoned the urge to vomit, but I swallowed it down, the fear far outweighing my disgust.

  I was looking at a Nightstalker.

  Was I, though? The creature stood within reach but hadn’t attacked. Eyes still swirling, it seemed to be examining me as much as I was it; that or searching for something. All I possessed were the knife and my music box, which I pulled toward my chest. No matter what happened, I refused to lose it a second time.

  That left only the dagger, and given that the Nightstalker hadn’t proven to be a threat so far, pulling it out seemed wrong. But I could think of no other option, and soon, those teeth would be close enough to do significant damage. Sucking in a breath, I curled my fingers around the handle.

  I hadn’t even lifted it before the beast was upon me.

  A yelp escaped me as claws pierced my wrists, and I was on my back, completely at the Nightstalker’s mercy. Though my chest heaved and my heart hammered hard enough to burst through my skin, the creature simply held me there. It lowered its head, not to look into my eyes but to sniff my bloodied arms with idle interest.

  Panic began choking me regardless. Closing my eyes, I forced out a hoarse whisper. “Please—don’t hurt me. I just want to go home.”

  I omitted the fact that not only did I not know where ‘home’ was, I’d never truly had one. The orphanage didn’t count, and neither did the nonexistent ship I’d failed to find. Home was as much of a mystery as the forest, my mother, and this creature had proven to be.

  At my words, the Nightstalker sheathed its claws. Distracted by the sudden sting of their withdrawal, I almost didn’t register the voice, clear as day, speaking in my head.

  Why do you yearn for a place in which you already reside, Wendy Maynard?

  Maynard: the surname that meant so little I’d nearly forgotten it. Too shocked to do anything but gape, I met the Nightstalker’s gaze, entirely convinced I was hearing things as well as seeing them.

  You needn’t be afraid. Not of me.

  As if that was supposed to make me feel any better. Still, it wasn’t as though I could move, and violence hadn’t worked. Reason was the next logical step. “Y-you… You know my n-name? H-how?” I was stuttering, a habit that hadn’t surfaced since early childhood.

  Whether or not you are ready to hear the great many things I know is the far better question. The Nightstalker spoke calmly, unbothered, and as though communicating with me was the most natural thing in the world.

  “I… I can’t say I’m convinced.” I wasn’t—neither of its so-called knowledge nor my sanity.

  Consider the fact that I haven’t killed you. Most other beings, despite knowing you’re one of us, wouldn’t hesitate.

  “One of you?” My current predicament suddenly didn’t matter; I laughed. “Whatever gave you that ridiculous notion?”

  I can smell it in your blood.

  I tensed. “That’s… comforting.”

  The Nightstalker nodded matter-of-factly. It very well should be. I do desire your life force, but stealing it would do more harm than good.

  What an odd way to describe murder. Raising an eyebrow, I dared to prod further. “Who are you?”

  My name is far from your comprehension.

  I gritted my teeth. “Is there anything I can know?”

  Only if you are ready. I sense that you are not.

  Mind racing, I pondered my choices. The Nightstalker hadn’t seriously harmed me, but neither had it given me any chances to walk free. It didn’t trust me not to run—and rightly so; not that doing so would get me very far. I could scream, but that was just as likely to attract more Nightstalkers as it was to alert help.

  But the more I squirmed, the more urgent my predicament became. Maggots from my captor’s wounds had started dropping onto my dress. They began crawling toward the many rips and tears I’d sustained since the morning, and it wouldn’t be long before they reached my skin.

  “Let me up,” I hissed, terrified at the thought of the awful things eating me alive. “I’ll do whatever—”

  Before I’d finished speaking, the Nightstalker leaped away. A piercing shriek had me covering my ears, and once it stopped, I nearly released one of my own.

  A figure stood at the far end of the clearing, wielding nothing but a dagger. Chest heaving, its gaze remained focused on the Nightstalker though its feet crept silently toward me. I might have been relieved if not for one small detail.

  He was one of them.

  Sallow skin barely clung to his frame, his arms were littered with festering wounds, and blood stained his shirt. I had little doubt the parts of him I couldn’t see were far worse. He was a walking, breathing corpse, and I could hardly believe it when a cry escaped his lips—in a voice I recognized.

  “That’s right, you ugly bastard—over here!”

  Peter?

  The Nightstalker bristled, tail lashing like a whip. I’ll be far less so once I’ve ended you.

  There wasn’t time to wonder what the hell was going on or how. When Peter raised his weapon higher, my chest tightened; could he not understand the creature like I did?

  “Just a little closer.” Narrowing his gaze, Peter tensed his mangled arm to strike.

  “Wait,” I shrieked. Snatching my music box, I scrambled to my feet, gaze flickering between Peter and the Nightstalker. “You don’t need to—”

  The beast charged, maw gaping and claws outstretched. I waited for the inevitable scream from one or both. What I didn’t expect was for Peter to shoot upward. I blinked in disbelief, jaw dropping when he remained hovering in midair.

  Smirking down at the disgruntled Nightstalker, he spread both arms in a challenge. “What’s wrong—too high for you?”

  Fairy magic won’t save you. The Nightstalker paced back and forth as it stared up at him, eyes now flashing blood-red. If you desire my life force, come and take it.

  “Peter,” I pleaded a second time. “You don’t need to do this. It doesn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Just like it claimed to not want to hurt you, am I right?” For the first time, Peter met my gaze, and I flinched at his intensity. Like the Nightstalker’s, his eyes contained a turbulent storm—one I had no desire to get caught up in. Pet
er gestured toward my bloody wrists. “First rule of Neverland, Wendy—never trust a Nightstalker.”

  “Neverland?” I echoed. “What—”

  He dove so suddenly not even the Nightstalker expected it. With a clearly practiced maneuver, Peter plunged his blade into the creature’s head just behind the thick plate of visible skull. The Nightstalker shuddered and slumped before crumpling to the ground in a heap, the dagger still protruding from its body. Black liquid began pooling from the wound, but I didn’t care to know whether it was blood.

  As Peter knelt beside his kill, I released the breath I’d been holding too soon. The Nightstalker’s body began disintegrating into a sand-like substance, swirling in the nonexistent wind. It gathered into a menacing cloud of darkness before shooting toward Peter, overtaking his body within its void. A strangled cry escaped my lips, but I could do nothing but watch as the cloud cycled ever faster, encircling each of his limbs with tendrils thicker than the chain of a ship’s anchor.

  But as quickly as it had gathered, the dust cloud dissipated, leaving Peter holding his knife. Not only were his wounds now gone, but he was whole, as young and handsome as he’d been at the docks. He stared into space with a glazed-over expression. For a moment, I wondered if he was dead. I started when he spoke, his voice gravelly and low.

  “Death pays for death, but life has no price.”

  I stood frozen, shocked and bewildered, as Peter sighed and flexed his arms. When he met my gaze, the storm was nowhere to be found. Mischief had replaced it, and he laughed as though nothing had happened. “Well, that certainly wasn’t how I imagined I’d spend my evening.”

  He’d laughed.

  He’d laughed.

  Something within me burst. I was in the Forest of Never, had been assaulted by monsters both living and undead, and had nearly died twice because of him, and Peter had the audacity to laugh?

  Obscenities poured from my lips, and I started punching and kicking any part of him I could reach. The fact that I was now the bedraggled one covered in blood only fueled my rage, and it was some time before Peter’s words got through to me.

  “Wendy—enough!”

  He was gripping both my wrists, careful to avoid my wounds. Blinking through the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen, I nodded, agreeing. This was enough.

  Then I ran.

  Peter must not have been expecting it, for I slipped from his grip easily. I raced back into the blackened trees, searching desperately for the path that had led me here. I hadn’t strayed far, so surely it was close…

  The more desperate my search became, the more I panicked. There was nothing surrounding me but an endless sea of dead trees, and all of them looked the damn same. No creatures, no color, and no path; nothing for me to latch onto. Only blackness.

  Only death.

  I ran until my legs were incapable of supporting my weight, sinking into a sobbing, blubbering mess. Cold began creeping in, but I ignored it even when my limbs became numb to the sting.

  A disembodied sigh floated through the stillness. “You’re going to freeze.”

  “I don’t care,” I snapped. “It’s better than turning into whatever you are.” I racked my brain for what that might be. Sorcerers, monsters, and fairies all came to mind, but not one of them fit a flying boy who could heal himself by killing Nightstalkers.

  “I’m actually not certain if you will, given that a Nightstalker spoke to you.” Peter floated in my peripheral vision. “Especially given that you understood it.”

  “What difference does it make? This is all your fault.”

  “My fault?” He scoffed. “I told you to stay where you were.”

  “You stole my music box.” Raising my head, I shot Peter a venomous glare as I readjusted my grip on my most valuable possession. “No one touches my music box.”

  He looked as though I’d slapped him. “I was going to give it back—”

  “I don’t give a shit what your intentions were. It’s mine.”

  Peter nodded solemnly. “It’s yours. I’m sorry.”

  “Good,” I spat.

  “But you shouldn’t have followed me. Now you’re stuck here.”

  “I absolutely am not. You got me into this mess, so you’re getting me out. Take me home—now!”

  Sighing, Peter settled onto the branch of a nearby tree. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and I’m not certain I do. You’re fun.”

  “Fun?” I was practically growling now, wishing I hadn’t abandoned my knife in the clearing. “If you don’t see me back this instant—”

  “I can’t, Wendy. Look around.”

  I did, despite wanting to punch that lopsided grin off his face.

  “It’s all the same—don’t you see? The trees keep moving, changing. And they will for as long as you try to escape.”

  I pursed my lips. “But you left just fine.”

  Peter smirked. “Very observant. I can indeed come and go as I please.”

  “Then take me with you—”

  “Can’t. The same would happen to me if I had you in tow. Neverland can’t be fooled.”

  That strange name again—Neverland. But before I could question it, Peter was in front of me, mere breadths away. As startled as I was, I found myself held captive by his dark, mysterious gaze. He carried that same misplaced aura I’d sensed at the docks, but stronger here; he belonged in this place of death, and yet he didn’t. When he whispered in my ear, gooseflesh erupted down my arms.

  “No matter how far you run, no matter what you try, you can’t leave—not until this place is done with you.”

  “And when will that be?”

  Peter pulled away and grinned, eyes flashing mischievously. “Never. Why else would it be called Neverland?”

  A chill shot up my spine, and I knew without question that there was truth to his words. I was stuck here, whether I wanted to be or not.

  The most terrifying part? I knew it was the former. No matter what I tried to convince myself, I’d had a choice at that beach. I’d made it knowing full well that I might never make it out alive. Who could have foreseen that my plight would turn out to be so literal? Though he’d been healed, I was unable to shake the image of the Peter I’d witnessed prior to his kill. He’d been undead, a corpse, and somehow, I sensed this wasn’t the last I’d see of it.

  But when he took my bloodied hand, it jarred me from my racing thoughts. Peter’s fingers, warm and firm, encircled mine, grounding me in some small way.

  “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up—for real this time.”

  I nodded once before trailing after him, deeper into what was evidently my new home.

  Neverland.

  III. the lost

  Peter lived in a tree.

  A comfortable, homely-looking tree, out of place among the others dead and dying… but a tree nonetheless. It took more than a bit of convincing for me to step inside the enormous, hollowed-out trunk, but once I did, my suspicions vanished—most of them, anyway. The place needed a good scrubbing and an even better dusting but was clearly well-loved. My gaze soon fell upon most things I’d need to make myself at home. A large table and chairs, a fireplace stocked with plenty of wood, and even a pile of clothes so massive I was certain to find something that would fit.

  My comfort suddenly took precedence over my burning questions. Eager to change out of my filthy rags, I darted toward the clothing and set down my music box. Without bothering to check if they were clean, I rifled through the stacks for something my size. Peter chuckled, but I ignored him until he said my name.

  “Catch.”

  I fumbled and nearly dropped whatever he’d tossed at me, then was relieved I hadn’t. An apple—food. Juices dripped down my chin when I bit into it eagerly. I’d never tasted anything so sweet; shocking, given where the fruit must have grown.

  Sensing my thoug
hts, Peter raised an eyebrow. “We have food here. There’s actually quite a bit of it now that…”

  His voice trailed off, piquing my curiosity. I spoke through my mouthful. “Now that what?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  He did not just brush off the first question I’ve been brave enough to ask. Balling my free hand into a fist, I raised my chin and my voice. “No. I may have kept quiet the entire way here, but I can assure you that was simply a state of shock. I don’t even know what you are, Peter, much less what happened back there. I deserve some answers.”

  “Then ask the right questions.” An infuriating smirk played on his lips.

  “I want to start there.” The only reason I wasn’t getting angrier was because my rage seemed to be goading him. “Why does so much food grow here, in a place like this?”

  His gaze darkened. “I suppose it’s one of the easier things to explain.” Pausing, he seemed to be searching for the right words. “There’s quite a surplus… because most of us are dead.”

  “Given our surroundings, that’s not exactly surprising.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not the curse that’s killing us—we’re killing us.”

  “You’re cursed?” I supposed it made sense given everything I’d seen; I’d witnessed Peter turn from a walking corpse back into a relatively normal human.

  When he didn’t answer, I asked again. “The curse—”

  “We all are,” he snapped. “Potentially including you, now. That pirate damned us all.”

  “There are pirates here?” My mood changed in an instant. Was this where they’d disappeared to all those years ago? If it was true… perhaps one of them remembered my mother.

  “You keep picking the wrong things to focus on,” Peter snapped, yanking me from my thoughts. “Did you not hear me say that we’re killing each other? That he killed…”

  His voice trailed off a second time. He clenched his fists, before turning toward what I assumed was his dresser. He yanked it open with force, informing me that any more questions would only provoke him further.