Hear the Crickets

by BJ Sheldon

  THE GIBBORIM SERIES BOOK 1: HEAR THE CRICKETS

  by

  BJ Sheldon

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright © 2015 by BJ Sheldon

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-68146-093-2

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Kelly Martin Editor: Dave Fields

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Janet – you are my shining star

  “You can catch a cricket in your hand, but its song is all over the field.”

  — Malagasy proverb

  Prologue

  Professor Perrin wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. It had grown warm, but he’d become far too distracted with what his students had discovered that morning to notice.

  It wasn’t unusual to uncover Native American artifacts when digging in South Dakota, especially in the Badlands. And dinosaur bones weren’t all that uncommon in that part of the country, either.

  But what he and his students had unearthed could be life altering for all of mankind. It could change how humans looked at the world and beyond.

  He tried to process it all, but it still didn’t seem real. One of his students sat hunched over on her knees, carefully brushing dirt off the skull while another young man used a trowel to gently remove dirt from the artifact’s edges. It was tedious work, and they’d already been at it for hours. But the skull appeared close to being freed from its earthly grave.

  It clearly wasn’t an ordinary skull. Instead, it appeared to be three times the size of a normal human skull. Its enormous mass was unlike anything that had ever been uncovered. The professor had heard rumors over the years about crackpots who claimed to have found the remains of giants, but they had never been able to provide concrete proof other than photographs, which could have easily been doctored. And actual skeletons had never been recovered. The bones allegedly ended up disappearing or were destroyed somehow.

  He also knew that, on more than a few occasions, the people who discovered those so-called giants were known to mysteriously die within days of locating the bones. But the professor didn’t believe in curses—or fate. Or even destiny for that matter.

  He believed in science and facts.

  His grad students worked meticulously to unearth the gigantic artifact, but there was still a lot of digging and excavating to do. What he really hoped to find were skeletal remains along with the skull.

  A find of that magnitude could shoot him and the school to fame.

  A third grad student used a trowel farther down from where the skull rested and carefully scraped away dirt from a potential set of bones.

  A young Native American boy stood nervously near the edge of the dig site, watching the three students continue their work. He was visibly uneasy about the find. Professor Perrin stood next to the young man and patted him on the back

  “You okay, Sam?” asked the professor. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “You shouldn’t be doing this. It’s a sign. You should leave that thing buried and leave,” replied Sam, wringing his fingers in front of him.

  “It’s fine, son. This could be monumental in the world of science. We may have just discovered a whole new race of humans.”

  “No. It’s not right. Cover it back up. It can only bring bad luck.”

  “You’re just being superstitious. Nothing bad will happen. I promise.”

  One of the male students suddenly jerked his head up and said excitedly, “Professor! You need to see this.”

  Professor Perrin ambled through the maze of dirt and crouched down beside his student.

  “What did you find, Kevin?” he asked.

  “I...I don’t know,” Kevin replied.

  The professor inspected the bones that Kevin pointed at nervously.

  “It’s...not an arm. An arm doesn’t look like that.” Kevin’s hands shook as he motioned toward his find. He stood, started pacing with both hands on top of his head, and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  The other two grad students had become curious about what their classmate had found. They halted their duties, joined their professor, and examined his find.

  Both stared in disbelief.

  “What is it?” Sam asked.

  No one answered.

  “What did you find? Someone tell me.” Sam didn’t move from his spot, seemingly too afraid to go near the bones.

  “It...they...they look like the bones you’d find on a giant bird,” stuttered the professor. He allowed his fingers to gently trace the bones and whispered, “Wings?”

  A loud noise echoed from the east, growing louder as the seconds ticked by.

  Upon hearing the boom, Sam set off running toward the reservation as fast as his legs could carry him.

  The professor and his students watched as what appeared to be a fireball race through the sky in their direction. They all glanced at one another in bewilderment, wondering exactly what they were seeing.

  But by the time they realized what it was, it was already too late.

  Chapter 1

  I lay in the middle of the street waiting for a car to come and end it. I was far too lazy to do it myself, so I rested on the cold pavement waiting for a complete stranger to do it for me. But of course, no one came. No one ever came. Mostly because no one ever drove down that street, especially at that time of night. My half-hearted attempt to kill myself was one more in an already long list of failed attempts.

  I’m a freak, I thought to myself.

  It wasn’t a self-deprecating comment—it was the truth. Humans would say I was far from normal. But then, I was never a huge fan of humans, so I couldn’t have cared less what they thought. What I did care about, however, was being discovered. If the majority of humans knew I existed, it would destroy their feeble sense of reality. After all, a six-foot tall female with large gray wings wasn’t something one saw every day.

  “What the hell are you doing down there?”

  I opened my eyes and found Sean standing over me. His slightly hefty body leaned down as he stared into my eyes with a look of consternation I’d grown to recognize over the years.

  “Someone’s going to see you out here. Are you nuts?” he barked.

  “Go away,” I said stubbornly, shutting my eyes.

  “Why are you lying in the street? Trying to kill yourself again?”

  I sighed heavily. I knew he meant well, but he was forever sneaking up on me and pissing me off.

  “None of your damn business.” I opened my eyes and pushed myself up off the ground as he moved to the side, giving me some room.

  “When are you going to realize it’s never going to work?” he asked. It was less of a question than an observation and was something he said every time I failed to die.

  “I’m not a quitter,” I replied with sarcasm drippin
g from my voice.

  I dusted myself off and shook the dirt out of my mop of hair.

  “You’re an idiot.” Sean sighed, shaking his head. He reached over and pulled a twig out of my locks. “What brings you to my part of town anyway?”

  I shrugged, honestly not sure what had drawn me to his trailer park. There were no street lights nearby, so the evening brought complete darkness. Nothing but the stars and moon in the sky to light my way. It was my favorite time to fly, and the safest, but it also forced me to reflect on everything in my life as I soared through the air. Somehow, I always seemed to end up on the ground at the end of his road, face up, staring at the stars, hoping and praying that a car would drive through and finally end my nightmare.

  But it never worked. Dying wasn’t meant to be. Believe me, it wasn’t for a lack of trying. It had become a test in futility throughout the years. I played the odds, hoping perhaps one day I might succeed. I’d jumped off of buildings, impaled myself with iron rods, cut my wrists—you name it, I tried it. And each time, I suffered excruciating pain which was then followed by a sudden onset of healing as if the injuries never occurred.

  It’s no wonder I felt like a failure.

  “Well, since you’re not dead, why don’t you come inside? I just made a batch of chili. Ya hungry?” Sean didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and headed up the street toward his single-wide, knowing full well that I’d follow.

  I begrudgingly made my way up his front steps and into his cramped house on wheels. He liked to collect anything and everything. Comic books, graphic novels, action figures, and collectibles littered his tiny home. He was a guy in his late-thirties, but his house looked an awful lot like it belonged to someone in his late teens. His coffee table was covered in comics and gamer magazines, and his end table was nothing but dirty dishes and take-out containers. His sofa was old and ugly with protruding springs precariously poking out through the fabric here and there. It was bright orange with large, brown leaves and worn in specific areas from years of sitting in the same spot, playing hours and hours of video games.

  I had never understood how people could waste their time on such trivial things. But then, I wasn’t normal.

  The sisters at the Order of St. Benedict had known I wasn’t normal, as well. I was just a little girl when I landed at their door. They saw I was afraid, unable to stop shaking. One of them had stepped forward to help take off my rather bulky coat. As my jacket slipped off my shoulders, everyone’s eyes became large with fear. The nuns dropped to their knees and began to pray at the sight of my wings, fearing I was a demon. I quickly backed myself into a corner and began to cry. It was only then that a nun by the name of Sister Mary Frances took pity on me and declared that someone so innocent could scarcely be evil. She scooped me into her arms and comforted me in her lap until I fell asleep.

  As I was growing up, she often told me that I was a miracle child sent by God and was destined for great things—that I was blessed and touched by the hand of the Father.

  But I didn’t see it that way.

  Over the next few years, I’d come to see my wings as more of a curse than a blessing. That was never truer than when I was a little girl growing up in the convent. It was painfully clear that I wasn’t like everyone else. The sisters kept me hidden from the nearby villagers in an effort to keep me safe, afraid of what people might do if they saw my wings. People fear what they don’t understand, so I passed the days watching the local children play tag from my bedroom window, wishing I could go outside and play with them.

  It was lonely back then. As I grew older, I came to understand that even when I finally ventured out on my own, I was destined to continue to live that kind of life.

  A life of seclusion.

  I didn’t know how to control my wings as a youngster. Keeping them contained behind me was a chore and very uncomfortable. They were large, difficult to keep confined, and had a mind of their own. I was forever knocking things over and breaking patron saint statues wherever I went. There were even times when I would accidently smack someone in the face as my wings unexpectedly opened up against my will.

  I knew with wings as large as mine, the prospect of flying wasn’t out of the question.

  But there was one problem.

  I wasn’t exactly sure I ever wanted to use them.

  One night, after the sisters fell asleep, I crawled out of bed and made my way to the abbey’s bell tower. I climbed through the hatch and crept out onto the roof. There I sat for over an hour, trying to get up the nerve.

  Not to fly.

  But to die.

  I was lonely and afraid. I didn’t know what I was or why I had been left with the nuns. The only clues to my past were the parchment pinned to my dress on the day I arrived and the key hanging from around my neck. Even though I’d been told my entire life that I was a gift from Heaven, I couldn’t be sure I hadn’t come from somewhere else entirely. The sisters had done their best to comfort me, but even they knew I had a monumental task ahead of me.

  But they had faith I could handle it.

  Me, not so much.

  So, I stood at the edge of that roof and looked out at the dark, Irish countryside below me. It was lovely and picturesque.

  And I thought to myself, what a beautiful place to die.

  With tears flowing down my face and my hands shaking with fear, I took a giant step off the edge of the roof and began to fall.

  My wings unfurled without warning or prompting. I became caught up by the air current. I could barely stay level, swaying back and forth. My desire to die was quickly replaced by the need to be in control. I took a deep breath and tried to relax in an effort to allow my wings to take over. The exhilaration of the wind as it whipped through my hair stirred something inside me. I was no longer confined to a room, on the inside looking out at the world as it went about its business. I was free. While it was true that my wings kept me prisoner to some extent, they also allowed me a freedom I hadn’t experienced before.

  A mile later, I landed safely, albeit a bit hard, on a gravel road. I strolled back to the abbey in the darkness with a newfound resolve and tenacity.

  “Are you going to sit down? Your wings are kinda knocking stuff off my coffee table.”

  Sean stood in the kitchen pointing at me with a ladle.

  I moved a handful of gamer magazines off Sean’s sofa and found a place to sit. He scooped some chili into a bowl and handed it to me.

  I wasn’t hungry.

  I was never hungry. I only ate for show—I didn’t need it to survive.

  “It’s good,” I said, totally lying. It was too spicy for me, but I went ahead and shoved another bite into my mouth.

  “You’re just saying that,” he said. “I know you don’t eat, but I figured it might warm you up a bit. It’s starting to get cooler out there.” Sean sat next to me on the sofa with his bowl in hand. “Especially when you’re lying on the ground.”

  “You know the weather doesn’t affect me.” I tried to get comfortable on his couch, but the sagging cushions and loose springs made it impossible. “And, let it go, would ya?” I said, rolling my eyes.

  Sean had discovered my secret fifteen years prior when he’d accidentally trespassed onto my property. He’d watched me land on top of my trailer after one of my night flights. He froze where he stood, trying to absorb what he’d just witnessed and stared at my unfurled wings. I’d thought about killing him at first to hide my secret, but his round face suddenly smiled so wide with joy at my presence that I didn’t have the heart to go through with it. He was a genuine friend from the start, swearing to keep my secret.

  And he did. He was one of the few humans I’d ever trusted. He went into town for me on a regular basis to pick up art supplies and drop off my latest pottery and paintings at a tourist store in town. This enabled me to stay living in the area longer than normal. No one knew my face, and I liked it that way.

  “I’m just sayin’. You know you can’t die. So why do you ke
ep trying to off yourself?” Sean asked.

  “Like I said—”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re not a quitter. Whatever, Skyy. You always give me the same answer. I just don’t understand what’s so rough about your life.” Sean shoved another spoonful of chili into his mouth, some of it dripping down his chin.

  “You don’t understand?” My head snapped in his direction, and I looked at him incredulously.

  “Well, no. I don’t! What’s so bad about it? I mean, you can fly. You don’t have to worry about getting fat because you don’t have to eat. You don’t age. You don’t get sick, get headaches, or have even had a single zit...ever. And best of all, you don’t have to deal with people. You get to hide away on that hundred acres of yours, and no one even knows you exist!” Sean started to scrape the bottom of his bowl with his spoon, making a god-awful screeching noise.

  I slammed my bowl onto the coffee table. A bit of chili sloshed over the edge, landing indiscriminately on a Doctor Strange comic underneath.

  “Jesus, Skyy!” Sean jumped into action. He lifted my bowl and pulled the comic out, all in one fell swoop. He rushed to the kitchen to grab a paper towel to try and undo the damage to Doctor Strange’s face.

  After a few hasty dabs, he blew on the cover.

  “This was a first edition. Now it’s ruined.”

  “Sorry,” I spit out.

  I wasn’t really sorry. He shouldn’t have left his rare comic books sitting out.

  “What’s your problem? You’re moodier than usual.” Sean placed his damaged comic on the top shelf of his overly crowded bookcase, along with the rest of the comics I’d ruined over the years, and plopped back down next to me.

  “I started hearing voices again.”

  Sean was quiet. He mulled over my information.

  “Same as before?”

  “Yeah. Same ones. I can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s almost like they’re speaking a different language on a different frequency than what I’m on. I can’t explain it.” I picked up my bowl and took it to the kitchen where I dumped its contents back into the simmering pot on his gas stove.