Lost in the Never Woods

by Aiden Thomas

  “But everyone thinks about possible futures for themselves,” she said. “There wasn’t anything you wanted to be? Other than just yourself?”

  “No, I never had that feeling,” he told her. “I was Peter Pan, the boy who never had to grow up. I got to live in Neverland and anything I could think up, I could become. A pirate, an explorer, a scuba diver,” he listed, staring out the window. “Growing up meant responsibilities: school, jobs, getting old and eventually dying—”

  “But you had all those lost kids to look after,” Wendy pointed out. “That’s a big responsibility, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it’s still fun,” he countered. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. “In Neverland, I could do whatever I wanted. I was free.”

  “But were you, Peter?” Wendy heard herself ask.

  He paused and then shook his head, not understanding.

  “You could do whatever you wanted, play whatever make-believe games you could come up with, but lost kids were always coming and going—you said so yourself,” Wendy said. “And it was always just make-believe. Didn’t you ever want something…” She tried to find the right words. “Real? You never felt like you were missing … something?”

  Peter’s celestial eyes locked on hers. “Not until I met you.”

  There was a low rush in the pit of Wendy’s stomach. It was so sudden, so simply put, that she wasn’t sure she had heard him right.

  He watched her carefully.

  Wendy shook her head, trying to think clearly.

  “You … what?” she asked.

  Peter took a deep breath. “I was fine with what I was, what it was my job to do,” he told her, watching her intently. “Your mom was the first person I met who wasn’t a lost kid. She was the first person who became my friend, who didn’t live in Neverland with me. We would have pretend sword fights in her backyard, she would tell me stories, and I told her what it was like in Neverland. But, just like everyone else in your world, she had to grow up.”

  This was the most Wendy had heard about Peter and her mom. “So you couldn’t visit her anymore?”

  Peter nodded. “I had mostly forgotten about her after a while, too,” he said. “Your mom remembered me, but she forgot that I was real. When I decided to look for her again on a whim, I found you, sitting in this window.” He looked like he was struggling to find his words. The tips of his ears were tinged red, but he didn’t look away, so neither did Wendy. “When I heard you telling my stories, I felt like I had to meet you. I wanted you to see me, to see that I was real,” Peter said.

  He spoke with a rushed urgency, like he was trying to explain himself.

  “When my shadow first went missing, I thought it was punishment for letting myself get—get distracted by you, because I was trying to get close to you. I wanted to,” he added insistently. Wendy’s eyes momentarily snagged on his hand as it reached toward hers, then hesitated. “Then when you found me struggling with my shadow, you acted like it was completely normal, and you were the one who was able to reattach it, to sew it back on.”

  “But how?” Wendy interjected.

  Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you had your own magic? There was something different about you. You felt different to me. Important.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Special.”

  Wendy’s hands gripped the teddy bear in her lap tightly. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

  “Then you started telling my stories less,” Peter continued. He spoke faster, his words tumbling from his lips. “I could see that you were growing up, that you were going to move into your own room, become a teenager, and forget about me. When John and Michael were—” Peter let out a frustrated noise and started again. “When I found the three of you in the woods, you begged me to bring you along to Neverland, and I wanted to. I didn’t want you to grow up and forget about me, too. It—” He gave her an uncertain look. “It hurt to think about.”

  Wendy could hardly understand him. She felt dizzy. “What are you saying?” She felt out of breath.

  “You were the oldest kid ever to come to Neverland, Wendy,” Peter told her. His fingers finally pressed to the inside of her wrist, heavy and warm. “It’s meant for children. I think that’s why I started losing my magic and Neverland began falling apart. It’s my fault all of this happened…” His face was twisted.

  “But you didn’t know that would happen,” Wendy said. Her body was acutely aware of him—where his hand was on hers, the way his body was angled toward her, how she was close enough to feel his body heat. The acorn pressed against the center of her chest. It felt hot.

  “I went against the rules,” Peter told her. “My job is to look after lost kids. I’m not supposed to interact with the others. I could watch, I could listen in when you told stories, but I wasn’t supposed to approach.” He paused and wetted his lips. “And then everything went wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to hate me.” He spoke slowly, deliberately.

  Wendy’s brows furrowed. She didn’t understand what he meant, but she couldn’t think through the heady fog. Wendy didn’t remember leaning in, or Peter moving closer. Their shoulders pressed against each other. Peter’s startling blue eyes were wide. His cheeks flushed. His fingers brushed against hers. Wendy’s heart fluttered in her chest.

  At first, she thought she was trembling, but it was Peter.

  “You’re shaking,” Wendy said.

  Peter’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, giving a barely perceptible nod of his head.

  “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything?” Wendy heard herself say. She was lightheaded and breathless.

  “I’m terrified,” he said quietly. His starry eyes held hers and she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.

  “Of what?” Wendy asked.

  Peter’s words brushed against her lips. “Losing you.”

  Wendy leaned in closer and placed a hand in the center of his chest. She could feel his heartbeat thudding against her fingertips. His palm pressed against her cheek. Her head swam as she drowned in the smell of humid jungles and salty oceans.

  The acorn around her neck burned bright in the small space left between them. It gleamed in his eyes.

  “Can I stay with you?” Peter whispered, ghosting over her lips.

  Wendy balled the front of his shirt in her hands, pulling him to her.

  There was a moment of lips pressed to lips, the taste of honeysuckle, and an unbearable lightness that made her feel like she would float away if she didn’t hold on to him.

  But then the window burst open, an exploding backdraft of darkness that tore them apart and threw Wendy to the ground.

  CHAPTER 20

  Truth

  The tiny bulbs lining the room popped and burst, snuffing out the lights. The window clattered and swung violently on its hinges. Wendy tried to push herself up, but pain splintered through her head. A groan sounded at the back of her throat and the room beneath her swayed.

  Peter let out a cry that snapped her out of her daze. He lay splayed on the floor a few feet away from her. His eyes were squeezed shut in a grimace. His entire body writhed in pain, fingers dragging against the floor. His back arched unnaturally. The muscles in his neck bulged and strained under his skin. His usually warm hair was dark with sweat and plastered to his forehead. His breaths sawed in and out, mixed with guttural cries.

  “Peter!” Wendy got herself up and tried to run to him, but her feet wouldn’t move. Her body weight pitched her forward. Her feet were caught in something like sticky black tar. She tried to tug them free, but they wouldn’t budge.

  High-pitched laughter filled the room and cut into her head, setting her teeth on edge. She clamped her hands over her ears.

  Lounging on the window seat was the shadow. It leaned back comfortably and smiled its jagged grin. “That was almost too easy!” it said before laughing again. With a flick of its wrist, thick black strands bound Peter’s arms and legs, jerking him up. Peter cried out a
s he hung suspended in mid-air.

  Wendy tried to lunge forward again, to get to Peter, only to fall back to her knees. “What are you doing to him?!” she demanded, her lips peeling back in a snarl. “Let him go!”

  The shadow turned to Wendy. Its fingertips, thin and pale like bones, pressed together and drummed rhythmically. “I should really be thanking you,” it said to her, its lips quirking into an angular smile. Its mouth looked like it had been carved into its face with a serrated knife.

  Her face screwed up in anger and confusion.

  “Wendy,” Peter groaned through agonized gasps, his lips pale white. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Run.”

  She shook her head fiercely. Fear dragged its claws over her skin, but there was no way she was leaving his side. She wouldn’t let the shadow take him. “What are you talking about?” Wendy asked, turning back to it.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” the shadow said with a puzzled look. “Our dear Peter Pan has kissed his magic away!” It smiled fondly at Peter, pressing a skeletal hand affectionately to his heart. Peter strained against his bindings.

  Wendy’s heart leapt into her throat. She could see the color draining from Peter’s face. Not like when someone became suddenly ill and their skin tinged green, but like his face was fading to the color of ash. Dark bruises blossomed under his eyes. Even the warm auburn of his hair started to fade. From the corner of his contorted mouth, pixie dust trickled down the side of his face. It dripped to the floor like liquid gold.

  Wendy frantically tugged against the binds holding her feet. “Peter!” she shouted. He was slipping away from her. His eyelids drooped and his head lolled to the side.

  “And it’s all because of you, Wendy,” the shadow crooned. It stood and walked over to Peter. It dragged a finger along his cheek, smearing the liquid light between its bony fingers.

  Peter’s face contorted in pain, a low groan sounding from deep in his chest.

  “Don’t touch him!” Wendy spat.

  The shadow turned to her and wagged a disapproving finger. “Now, now, there’s no need for impoliteness,” it gently scolded her before holding its hands out at its sides. “I’m trying to thank you!”

  The muscles in Wendy’s face twitched. She didn’t care what the shadow was or what it could do to her. All she wanted was to get it away from Peter.

  And rip that smile off its face.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Feelings, Wendy,” it said. Wendy’s resolve wavered for a moment, but she steeled herself, refusing to let it distract her. “From the very first time he saw you, he felt something for you. Something that kept luring him away from his responsibilities, from Neverland. It’s you, Wendy, who has brought the great Peter Pan to his knees.” The shadow began to walk in a slow circle around her, his black eyes hungry.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

  “I could see what was happening, of course, though he was far too oblivious,” it drawled. “With each visit to hear you tell those silly stories about him, I could feel him growing weaker. It was thanks to you, Wendy, and his feelings for you, that I grew more powerful.

  “You see, Peter Pan is the embodiment of all things good, and light, and joyous.” It spoke with a disgusted sneer. “Peter never had reason for a bad thought or worry. His existence was simple—take care of the lost children and bring them happiness. That was all that was required of him! He never had reason to want to leave Neverland, to abandon his duty, his sole purpose of being, until he met you.” Thunderous laughter rolled through the room. “But the very first time he laid eyes on you, I could feel it.” The shadow’s hands clenched into fists.

  “It was disgusting really, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, but it wore on his resolve, and I could feel him waver. I even nearly succeeded once! Dear Peter couldn’t help himself. I took the chance to escape, while he snuck off to see you, his heart aching with the need.”

  It was a memory that had been lost for so long. How she’d awoken to Peter in her room, upset and wrestling with his shadow. How she’d helped him sew it back on. That was the reason Peter thought she could put an end to it now.

  How wrong they both had been.

  “Alas, I was premature, I’ll admit, but not this time. I waited and let the feelings fester. The more he thought about you, the more he missed you and ached with longing, the stronger I became. And then finally, my opportunity came! Peter wanted to keep you, and he broke the rules. He brought you to Neverland, but you were no lost child, Wendy, not like your brothers.”

  Wendy glowered at the shadow, her face pinching in confusion. She still didn’t understand. She looked at Peter, but he was barely conscious, his breaths coming sharp and shallow. His blue eyes tried to find hers, but they kept losing focus.

  The shadow floated across the room in long, languid steps. It stooped over Wendy and clutched her chin with its sharp fingers. She tried to wrench herself free of its grip, but it was cold and strong as iron. The air around it drained the warmth from her skin, tickling the hair on her arms.

  “Don’t touch her.” The breathless growl was Peter’s. Teeth clenched tight, he struggled against his restraints, shoulders lurching as his arms pulled and flexed, trying to break free. But it was no use.

  The shadow kept all of its focus sharp on Wendy, but it closed its hand into a fist. The black ropes wrapped tighter around Peter, biting into his skin. An anguished cry ripped from his throat.

  “Stop!” Wendy shouted in the shadow’s face. “Let him go!” She hated the panic and pleading in her voice, but how much longer would Peter be able to stand this torture?

  Slowly, a triumphant smile stretched across the shadow’s lips, splitting its twisted face in half. “I know Peter’s deepest, darkest secrets,” it said, its low voice reverberating through Wendy’s bones. “Because I am those secrets. I am the consummation of his fears.”

  It released Wendy’s chin. Her cheeks burned from where its sharp nails had bitten into her skin.

  “His fears were about losing you. He was afraid of what you might think of him. That you would hate him and never want to see him again if you knew the truth.”

  She couldn’t trust what it was saying. Everything it did, it did with purpose, to gain the upper hand. Wendy could see that now, and she wouldn’t let it consume her, even when she felt the panic coursing through her veins. “What truth?” she spat, but it continued on as if it hadn’t heard her.

  “His fear gave me strength, and finally, I was able to escape the confines of our bond. But”—it turned back to Wendy—“as long as Peter had his magic, he posed a risk. It was a simple plan, and he fell for it so easily.” The shadow laughed. “To further weaken his resolve, I just had to lead him back to you, and Peter did the rest. He missed you when you were gone.”

  Wendy’s throat was tight. She was terrified, but the words sent her stomach tumbling.

  “It left him heartbroken, really. He wanted to choose you, Wendy. All I had to do was present him with the opportunity.” The shadow tutted disapprovingly. “So, I led him here, dropped him right in front of you for you to find. Peter’s weakness for you was his undoing.”

  Wendy choked on her own breath. The guilt was crushing. The sticky blackness oozed up Wendy’s legs and climbed up her arms. Her brothers, the other missing children, and Peter, ensnared and in pain—it was all because of her.

  “Don’t get me wrong, the fear of those children has given me plenty of strength, as well. And I admit, your fear and guilt are especially”—it inhaled a deep, rattling breath—“delicious. You’re such easy prey. All I have to do is lure you into these woods and it just pours from you. The scars of trauma are just so mouthwatering.

  “But it’s Peter I’ve been after. He chose you, and, by doing so, he has abandoned the lost children and has been stripped of his magic. So, lost children they will remain.”

  Peter’s eyes bulged and glistened, frantic and scared. “No,” he groaned, fighting his restrai
nts with renewed vigor. “I need to go back—I need to help them!” The words rushed from Peter’s lips as he struggled, muttering as if to himself.

  The shadow laughed.

  Wendy could feel herself sinking deeper into the tarlike blackness, as if it were pulling her through the floor. Wendy’s entire body trembled, her breaths ragged and tasting of salt. Sticky tendrils snaked across her thighs and up her arms. Tension swelled, pushing against her ribs, expanding like a balloon. It ached and burned. It felt like it would break at any moment.

  “Where are the children you took?” Wendy demanded, refusing to give in to the shaking creature in her chest. “Bring them back!” She tried to wrench herself free but only sank deeper into the oozing blackness.

  The shadow threw its head back. Screeching laughter filled the room. “They were merely pawns to get to you, Wendy! Haven’t you put it together yet? Haven’t you remembered? Hasn’t he told you?” it asked, peering at her through narrowed eyes. Its face—Peter’s face, but cruel and dark and distorted—held sick glee in every sharp angle.

  She heard its words, but they didn’t fit together in her head. She couldn’t make sense of it or of the plummeting sensation in her gut, as if it knew before she did. Wendy wanted to rage and scream. “Bring my brothers back!” Her voice quaked and broke.

  “Oh, Wendy.” Its grin was cruel, its chuckle amused. “I don’t have your brothers. I never did.”

  Wendy froze. What? She shook her head. The shadow was lying, of course it was lying. It wanted her to be frightened. It was trying to mess with her head. Wendy looked at Peter for answers, but he didn’t meet her gaze. His attention was locked on the shadow. The muscles in his jaw bulged.

  The shadow leaned in close. It smiled as if reading her mind. Its breath reeked of decaying leaves and the thick must of wet dirt. “Lost children are the souls of children who have lost their way. Peter is their guide.”

  “Guide?” Wendy repeated. Confusion and panic ripped through her body. She felt dizzy. She couldn’t breathe. She shook so violently, she was nearly convulsing. It was like her body knew what was coming but her brain couldn’t keep up.