The Haunting of Gabriel Ashe

by Poblocki, Dan

  SHORTLY THEREAFTER, THE BOYS returned to the altar.

  Wraithen knelt at the base, hunched over some secret object that he’d taken from his satchel. Meatpie stood a few feet back, craning to catch a glimpse of what it was. The crooked tree reached toward the boys, its low branches swaying in the breeze like hands trying either to clutch at them or shoo them away. Meatpie had been nervous to come back here again. But Wraithen claimed he’d acquired a talisman so powerful that it would allow the boys to complete their task. The journey to the shadow market that morning had been for this purpose alone. Wraithen explained that when Meatpie had stood guard outside that mysterious door, he’d been inside brokering a deal with a covert agent to obtain the object over which he was now bent.

  In moments, Wraithen professed, the hub of the Hunter’s power would be destroyed.

  A chill breeze rushed over the forest floor, rustling dead leaves into small swirling eddies. Meatpie shivered. He wasn’t certain, but it sounded like Wraithen was mumbling something—a spell or perhaps a prayer. Several brisk snapping sounds erupted from Wraithen’s cupped hands. Then he leapt up, wearing a weird expression of panic and delight.

  “Run!” Wraithen grasped Meatpie’s arm and pulled him down the slope toward a nearby brook. From behind them came a harsh hissing sound. It grew louder, and then a blast rocked the top of the hill. The boys fell with a wet splat into the mud near the shallow water. Rocks tumbled down the hill toward them. One stone, which was the size of a human skull, came to a stop several feet from where they lay sprawled in the muck.

  Meatpie glanced up at the altar. Wraithen’s spell had worked. Somewhat. A large chunk of the structure had crumbled away. The pile of rocks was not nearly as formidable as before. In seconds, the altar had become ruins.

  “What the heck was that?” Gabe said, sitting up. The ground near the tree was smoking slightly.

  “I didn’t realize it was going to be such a big explosion,” Seth answered quietly, dazed. His character, Wraithen, seemed to have been blown away with the blast, leaving an ordinary boy in his place.

  “But you knew there’d be an explosion?” Gabe found himself unable to control the pitch of his voice. It rose with every word.

  “Well, yeah,” said Seth. “An M-80 will explode when you light it on fire.” He turned over his palm, revealing a pack of matches—the cause of the snapping sound. The hiss had been the slow burn of the fuse.

  Gabe shook his head in amazement. “You should have warned me! You could have, I don’t know…killed us?”

  Seth stood and raced back up the small slope to examine the damage he’d caused. Gabe followed reluctantly, wondering if the invisible thing that had chided him days ago was here now. How angry would it be to learn what they’d done? The boys paused at the edge of a slight crater. The earth was singed. It continued to smoke slightly. A dark gap had appeared at the base of the altar. The ground beneath the stones must be hollow, Gabe thought. The altar itself appeared to be held up by the intertwined roots of the nearby tree.

  Gabe poked Seth’s shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to say?” Seth faced him, but his mind was elsewhere. “Earth to Seth?”

  Seth blinked, then shook his head. “I-I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve said something. I just thought it would be…fun.”

  Felicia’s warning about Seth came rushing back to Gabe. His mouth went dry. “Where did you get it? The M-80?”

  “There’s this kid one grade below ours. He trades for them. I brought him some of David’s old comics this morning. You were my lookout.” Seth smiled wanly. “In Slayhool. The shadow market. Remember?”

  “Yes,” Gabe said, frustrated. “I remember. It’s just…I thought we were playing a game. I didn’t realize this”—reality—“was going to be part of it.”

  “I won’t do it again. Promise.”

  Gabe sighed. “Good,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “But look,” said Seth, nodding at the ruined pile of rocks. “Our mission’s almost complete.”

  A moment later, Gabe found himself mesmerized by the dark cavity at the base of the altar. A soft sound breathed forth from inside, like a rush of water or wind. He stepped closer, his sneakers slipping into the shallow crater. Bending down, he touched the part of the crevice that opened beneath one of the larger stones, allowing his fingers to slide along the edge of earth. To his surprise, chunks of dirt broke off and fell into the gap, disappearing silently inside. How deep was this hole? he wondered.

  The soft sound intensified, and Gabe realized that it wasn’t water or wind, but someone speaking from the depths, too softly to be intelligible. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he fell away from the stones.

  “Whoa,” said Seth. “Jumpy, are we?”

  Gabe glared at him. “You did set off a tiny bomb about a minute ago, so yes, I suppose I am a little jumpy.”

  “It wasn’t a bomb.” Seth bent close to the altar too. “What did you find?”

  Gabe sat up. “Nothing. I thought I heard—” But the sound had stopped. He closed his mouth, unsure if he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe his ears had been ringing from the blast?

  “Thought you heard what?” Seth asked.

  “It sounded like someone was down there. Whispering.”

  Seth got down on his hands and knees, bringing his head right up to the gap. Gabe imagined a pale hand reaching up from the darkness. Wasted, skeletal fingers, dirty, clawlike nails inching out of the hole and searching for skin to clutch, to tear. He grabbed Seth’s collar and pulled him away. Seth made a gagging noise. “Ow,” he choked out, slapping uselessly at Gabe’s hand. “What the heck was that for?”

  Gabe stared at the hole. There was nothing there—obviously. “Sorry,” he said. He glanced at Seth, who was looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “Can we please just get out of here?”

  The boys wandered over the nearest hill and came upon one of the old horse trails. Gabe turned toward Temple House. “I should head back,” he said. “Homework.”

  “Really? I didn’t get any today.”

  “I want to get a start on some of the reading we’re going to be doing in history.” Gabe blushed at his lie. He tried to kick a rock but missed.

  “How ambitious of you,” said Seth, disappointed. “Well, maybe I’ll do the same. Can’t have you getting ahead of me. See you at the bus stop tomorrow?”

  “Sure thing.” Gabe took a few steps up the hill before stopping and turning around. “Hey!” he called.

  Seth stopped and turned back. “Yeah?”

  “If we destroy the altar, and the Hunter loses his power, is the game over?”

  Seth shook his head. “Doubt it,” he said, and smiled. “The Hunter always finds a way to come back.”

  AFTER DINNER, GABE’S FATHER INVITED him and his grandmother upstairs to his makeshift workshop. When Glen turned on the lights, Gabe was surprised to find that the puppet was finished. The creature stood against the windows, nearly seven feet tall. His googly eyes stared at the ceiling, irises slightly askew, and his mouth hung open, revealing marshmallow-shaped teeth. Short, sharp horns erupted from the top of his head. Shaggy gray fur hung like dreadlocks from his wide shoulders. Blunt black claws poked out from his fingers and toes.

  “What do you think?” Glen asked.

  “Oh, he’s beautiful!” said Elyse.

  “Yeah, Dad,” said Gabe, forcing a smile. “Really cool.”

  Glen approached the puppet. “I’m still working on the inner framework and mechanical details, but I think I have at least enough to show the producers.”

  “What’s his name?” Elyse asked.

  “Milton Monster,” Glen said with a smile.

  Elyse crossed the room, took Milton’s hand, and examined Glen’s craftsmanship. “Jim Henson seams,” she said. “Nearly invisible. Beautiful work, sweetheart.” Her eyes glistened as she glanced at her son. “I’m so proud of you. Back on your feet so soon.” Glen stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her slight shou
lders, and squeezed.

  Gabe felt like he wanted to throw up. He was happy for his father, of course, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking what these kinds of creatures had done to him in the past. He considered what Seth had said about the Hunter always finding a way to come back. Apparently monsters were not so easily defeated.

  A few minutes later, as his father (the builder of beasts) led his grandmother (the illustrator of gothic horrors) out of the room, Gabe wondered why his family seemed to surround themselves with this darkness. Was this his destiny too? He turned off the light and followed them into the hallway.

  Gabe wandered into his bedroom, closed the door, and leaned against it. Maybe monsters could be useful? If you could learn to control them, they might become essential allies, protectors, heroes. He thought of Seth, of the game, of the whispering hole beneath the pile of stones. He imagined the Hunter, standing at the edge of the woods, a shadow surrounded by shadows, watching, waiting, amused by his puny efforts to understand.

  ON SATURDAY MORNING, Dolores knocked on Gabe’s bedroom door, waking him from yet another dream of smoke and fire. “You’ve got a phone call,” she said, peeking in at him.

  Gabe crawled out of bed, wiping sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. Seven thirty? Who would be calling so early, especially on the first Saturday of the school year? Since his grandmother didn’t have a cordless phone, he had to trek all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Miri was perched in her high chair beside the table, moving soggy apple slices around on the tray. She smiled at him as he came through the door. Gabe went over to her and rubbed her head, then snatched up a piece of apple and popped it into his mouth.

  The receiver sat on the counter. “Hello?” His voice felt froggy.

  “Hey!” Seth. Even with one short word, he sounded wide awake, raring to go. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Um. I was sleeping.”

  “Get dressed,” Seth said. “Meet me at the crooked tree. You’re not going to believe this.”

  Twenty minutes later, dressed in a rumpled T-shirt and jeans he’d grabbed from his bedroom floor, Gabe hiked down the hill behind the house, still half-asleep.

  It was another sunny day, but the air was cooler than it had been earlier in the week. The canopy of leaves high above were beginning to reveal hidden pigments—hints of the yellows, oranges, and reds that would soon paint the landscape from horizon to horizon.

  From the trail, Gabe noticed Seth standing off in the woods. Seth wore a subtle smile, watching silently as Gabe made his way through the brush. He waved Gabe around the other side of the rock pile, nodding at the spot where the M-80 had gone off.

  A sensation of pinpricks danced across Gabe’s skin. Someone had restored the altar. “You did this?” Gabe asked.

  Seth sniffed, amused. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Then how—”

  “I don’t know,” said Seth, bending down to examine the repair. The stones fit together like perfect little puzzle pieces. “I had a weird feeling and came out early this morning to check. It wasn’t you, was it?”

  Gabe laughed, though he didn’t find Seth’s question amusing. “Um,” Gabe said. “No. It wasn’t me.” Gabe remembered the voice he’d heard out here—Don’t!—and the whispering from the crevice underneath the stones. It had to have been Seth. The other option was too bizarre to even consider considering. “But nice try,” he added.

  Seth flinched. “You think I’m making it up?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s how we play the game, isn’t it? We make it up.”

  Seth went pale, his face grew grim. “I’m not lying. I didn’t touch these rocks, I swear.”

  “Then who did?” Gabe asked, teasing. “The Hunter?”

  “It is his altar,” said Seth.

  “No.” Gabe paused. “It’s just a pile of rocks that we found in the woods. The Hunter isn’t real. The game isn’t real.”

  “Don’t say that,” Seth said.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Seth turned away. When Gabe reached out and touched his shoulder, Seth spun on him, waving his arms wildly, indicating the stones, the tree, the entire forest. “How do you explain all this?”

  “Easy,” Gabe answered quickly, frustrated. “You did it.”

  Seth clenched his fists. “I did not.”

  “Come on, Seth,” said Gabe. “If you don’t admit it, then I don’t want to play the game anymore.” The words came out of Gabe’s mouth before he’d thought about what their effect would be.

  “But I didn’t do this,” he said quietly. Seth’s face seemed to slowly melt. He looked like Gabe had punched him in the stomach. “I called you as soon as I realized that someone else had been out here.”

  “The Hunter,” Gabe said. As the truth finally registered, he shivered and stepped away from the altar. “You really do believe.”

  Seth closed his eyes, deflated. After a few seconds, he shook his head. His voice trembled when he spoke. “And I guess I’d have to be crazy to think something like that. Right?”

  IN THE DAYS FOLLOWING THAT WEEKEND, Gabe kept himself busy. Homework. Chores. Watching Miri while the adults were occupied. When he saw Seth on the bus or in the hallways between classes, Seth chattered on about a variety of topics ranging from the promising new movies coming out that fall, to the best types of feed for elderly horses, to the precarious state of the comic book industry—everything but the confrontation in the woods.

  Gabe assumed Seth was filling up with noise what would have otherwise been awkward silence. In the moment when Seth had denied rebuilding the altar, Gabe felt their friendship change. There was no going back.

  He was happy to have found a lunch table filled with kids who were welcoming, who were intrigued by stories about the big creepy house where he lived, who hadn’t once judged him or tried to trick him. And he found Mazzy to be more and more interesting. During gym class, she’d discovered a hula hoop in the supply closet and impressed everyone by keeping it going for the entire period. Forty whole minutes. It had been awesome. Even better, Mazzy came to the bus at the end of each school day to say good-bye. She really seemed to like him. And he felt the same. Every time he saw Mazzy smile, Gabe pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming—it hurt, but it was worth it.

  Then, on the third Thursday of the school year, disaster struck.

  That day, Gabe decided to splurge on the school pizza, which everyone promised was too good to pass up. So after math class, instead of stopping by his locker to pick up his paper-bag lunch, Gabe went straight to the cafeteria, arriving earlier than usual. When he came through the double doors, he found that someone had usurped his group’s regular table. Seth turned toward him, smiled, and waved. Gabe didn’t wave back. Looking around, he saw none of his other friends. He rushed to the table. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Oh, well, I realized that if I switched my quiet-study period, I could eat lunch with you guys,” Seth said. He took a sip from an open carton of chocolate milk, then scooted over and pointedly brushed at the seat beside him.

  “You have to go.”

  Seth tilted his head. He’d expected this reaction. “You don’t want me to sit here?”

  “I don’t mind,” said Gabe, “but the others won’t be happy that someone else took the table.”

  “Then come with me to a different one. We can sneak off to Slayhool.” He whispered in the voice of Wraithen, “My sources say that the Hunter is currently watching us.”

  Gabe felt an unexpected anger burning beneath his skin. Was this supposed to be a test? Of what? Loyalty? Before he could respond, he heard a familiar voice behind him. “What’s going on here?” Gabe turned to find Felicia, arms crossed, looking tickled.

  “We were just leaving,” said Seth, rising from the bench. He grabbed the chocolate milk carton. “Come on, Gabe.”

  “Gabe?” said Felicia, hiding a hint of laughter. “Really?”

  “Seth switch
ed lunch periods,” Gabe answered, feeling his lameness ooze from his skin.

  “I can see that,” she answered. Malcolm and Ingrid appeared through the crowd and approached cautiously.

  “Yeah,” said Seth, his voice dripping with false sweetness, “so if it’s okay with you, Felicia, Gabe’s gonna sit with me. We’re obviously not welcome at your table.”

  “Gabe can do whatever he likes,” said Felicia. “If he wants to sit here, he can, and if he wants to leave us…well, that’s his decision.” Her voice had an edge to it, which spoke silently of serious repercussions.

  Gabe felt his chest begin to constrict. He struggled to catch his breath. “No,” he heard himself say. He slid onto the bench. “I want to sit with you guys.”

  Felicia parked herself opposite him and grinned up at Seth. “I guess Gabe’s made his decision.”

  Gabe lowered his eyes and stared at his lap. He pressed his fingers into his palms, feeling as though he were holding on to the planet for dear life. In the silence that followed, he could only imagine Seth’s face, purple with rage. Ingrid and Malcolm sat down too, unable to hide their discomfort. They glanced at each other, then purposely looked in opposite directions.

  “Evil witch,” Seth whispered to himself, as if Felicia were a character in the game, a creature who needed to be vanquished.

  Before Gabe knew what was happening, Felicia screamed. She scrambled rapidly out from the booth. The entire room went silent. Time seemed to slow. As she stood, Gabe saw an opaque brownish substance drip from her hair, down her face, and dribble onto her shirt. Chocolate milk. He turned toward Seth, unable to think, unable to speak.

  Seth dropped the now empty carton. It hit the floor with a resounding hollowness. He backed away, then knocked into several students on his way toward the cafeteria doors. People grabbed at his shirt, shouting for him to stop, but he didn’t appear to hear them. Either that, or he didn’t care.