Pull Down the Night (The Suburban Strange)

by Nathan Kotecki

  He set his things down on a table in the reading area and headed into the stacks. His measuring tape was nowhere near long enough to cover the distance he had traveled to the sixty-fourth aisle, but he figured the shelves must be evenly spaced, so he could always measure the span of ten rows along the aisle and then multiply to get the total length. But that still required finding the back wall.

  He measured the distance from the first shelf to the tenth and set out, intent on walking until he reached the back wall of the library. The lantern was waiting for him at aisle 16, burning brightly, as though it had just been lit. Bruno didn’t even waste time wondering how. He picked it up and kept going, and the darkness thickened beyond the glow from the candle. On either side the aisles of books faded into gray and then black, and in front of him the main aisle stretched out like a dark forest with nothing but night on the far side.

  He passed aisle 32 and wondered if a volume of You Are Here was there now. He lifted the lantern to peer down the row, but the light from the candle dazed him for a moment, and when he lowered it, phosphenes trailed across his vision. He blinked and they were gone. A vague lightness began to haunt his head as he continued on. Did I eat something bad for lunch? What’s happening? He kept walking.

  The palpable silence he remembered from his first excursion back here was changing. Up ahead Bruno thought he could hear a sound that might have been wind, or a river, or a distant storm. Aisle 40, 45, 50 . . . He sensed a change in the air pressure, but he couldn’t tell whether it was real or a by-product of his disorientation. He considered turning around, but he didn’t want to admit defeat.

  He had just passed aisle 64 when someone or something passed behind him, crossing the main aisle as it traveled down the row. He turned around but saw nothing besides shelves and shelves of oversize books. In the faint light they looked faded and forgotten. The lantern had grown heavy in his hand, and he could only lift it up by his shoulder for a few seconds. This is a bad idea. He continued walking, his steps unsteady.

  The white noise grew louder but no more distinct, and Bruno thought he smelled sea air, but when he inhaled again he wasn’t sure. Now things were moving in the distance in front of him. It might have been paper being blown by wind, or perhaps there were people rushing through the rows, crossing the aisle with a rustle of coats and the light tread of runners. Then he couldn’t see anything, and he was unsure whether the blackness was around him or inside his head. A gust of air flowed from somewhere deep in the library and pushed against Bruno, and for a second he was scared a train was bearing down on him in this darkened tunnel. What was I thinking? If someone is going to die at Suburban this year, this might be where it happens. He lost his sense of the floor beneath him, and then he couldn’t feel his legs.

  HE AWOKE IN THE DARK with the sound of wind and water in his ears, unsure how long he had been unconscious. The lantern stood next to him on the floor, its candle still burning. Bruno struggled to raise himself up on his hands, and he looked around for the distant light of the reading area. He pulled himself up and started back, leaving the lantern behind. His vision kept fading in and out, and he had to steady himself, letting go of one shelf and falling forward to catch the next one. When he willed himself to lift his head, the weak glow where the tables and Lois were didn’t seem to be any closer.

  He kept on, but it felt like hours before the light was finally strong enough for him to see the colors on the books he passed. The weakness wasn’t leaving him. He couldn’t hold up his head, and his legs lurched sideways without warning. If he allowed his eyes to close for too long, the lights that danced on his eyelids made him nauseous. He felt as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

  When he finally staggered out of the stacks and collapsed by the table where he had left his books, a figure swam into his vision as it bent over him. “Bruno! What happened?” she cried before he passed out again.

  THERE HAD BEEN AN AMBULANCE, and a brief stay in the emergency room, where Bruno’s family was told he was severely anemic. He was taken home and put to bed, and November was nothing but a fog that didn’t seem to want to lift. His parents doted on him, and even Sylvio was kind, bringing him music and helping him with his schoolwork when he was able to resume it.

  Being confined to his house was a worse torment than anything that had happened at Suburban. The long hours with nothing but home assignments gave him plenty of time to ponder, and to try to guess for what felt like the hundredth time what the library had done to him.

  Marco came to see him every few days, which helped to break the monotony. “What the hell happened?” he asked on his first visit. “You had no idea you were anemic?”

  “No,” Bruno said honestly. “I never had any symptoms, anything. It just happened.”

  “I blame that library,” Marco said, his eyes twinkling. “This is proof that too much learning is bad for your health.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Bruno said, catching Marco’s dry humor.

  “Probably not. Seriously, though, what is up with the library? The day after you bit it, some guys were in there testing it to see if there were high levels of carbon monoxide.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t think they found anything, though. You’re not missing much at Suburban. Actually, it seems like the depression curse might be over. Other than you, no one else has come down with a case of the sads in a couple weeks.”

  “Is Mariette still handing out kiss notes?”

  “Yeah, she’s still at it. Turns out I’m not the only gay senior. I’m just the only one who’s not a closet case.” Marco grinned. “So, are you feeling stronger?”

  It was a good question, because even though his iron deficiency had been corrected, he wasn’t. Sophia had called, offering to come home, and making him tell her over and over again it wasn’t necessary. He made his family promise not to tell her when his doctor admitted it was taking far longer for him to recover than it should. The doctor ordered more tests.

  Marco wasn’t too concerned. “You’ll be fine; just give it some time. If you need anything Silver can’t or won’t bring you, let me know, okay? I miss you at school. You’re the best company I have, and now I’m just wandering around cracking wise by myself.”

  “Sorry,” Bruno said, smiling at the thought.

  The first time Celia came to see him, she asked quietly, “What really happened?”

  “I don’t know. I went deep into the stacks again, but this time it was like it sucked the life out of me or something. I kept getting weaker, and I think I passed out for a minute. I had to turn around, and then by the time I got back, I was completely wiped out.”

  “What’s it like, back there? Is it pitch-black?”

  “Yeah. It gets windy, and it sounds like there’s a storm really far back. Plus, I’m pretty sure there are other people back there. I kept glimpsing things, but I couldn’t be sure.”

  “Really? And you didn’t feel any of this the first time, when you found the book?”

  “No.”

  “That’s just so strange. I wonder why it was so different when you went back this time.”

  “Well, I have felt that way before, kind of.”

  “When?”

  “In the Ebentwine clearing.”

  “But that didn’t make you sick like this.”

  “I never stayed long enough. But within a minute or two I started to get lightheaded and see stars. Gardner would always shoo me out before it got worse.”

  “Do you think . . .”

  “The Ebentwine is somehow in the back of the library, too? It kind of seems that way. I smell the ocean when I’m in the clearing, and I smelled it when I was deep in the stacks, too.”

  “That’s—” Celia stopped herself. “I was going to say ‘That’s crazy,’ but that’s not saying much, really, is it?” Celia’s eyes smiled. She drove the torpor out of his bedroom, and he wanted her there forever. But too soon she said, “I wish I could stay longer, but I have to meet Tomas
i.” She squeezed his hand and then she was gone.

  THERE WERE FAR TOO many hours in the day. The doctor ordered even more tests. His father brought him a copy of The Stranger. “It’s been so long since I read this, I barely remember it,” he said. “Why did you ask for it? Do you have to read it for school?”

  “No, a friend was reading it, and I was just curious.”

  “Beware those existentialists. They’ll make you question why you’re here.” Mr. Perilunas laughed and patted Bruno’s forehead.

  It might have been that his days already were somewhat surreal, being home sick, but The Stranger felt like a hallucination. It had the strange effect of making Bruno feel as though all the bizarre things that awaited him outside his house might not be so bizarre after all. It might just be a matter of changing the way he thought about them. That didn’t make them less mysterious—only less extraordinary.

  He gave the book to Marco when he was finished. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, but it kind of blew my mind.”

  “Cool. I’d love to read it. I’d bet Celia would, too. Oh, hey, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. One of those St. Dymphna guys talked to her at Diaboliques last week.”

  “Really?”

  “She said his name was Moss. She even made him spell it. Moss.” Marco gave Bruno a moment to share in the absurdity. “But he cozied up to her just like Evan did with me, and what’s-his-name—Turlington?—did with you. It’s like they’re looking for the weak link to recruit to the dark side or something.”

  “I bet Tomasi loved that.”

  “Ha, I wish I’d seen his reaction! I’ll bet some words were spoken at St. Dymphna’s on Monday.”

  Marco helped Bruno feel connected to the outside world, even more so than Sylvio, who seemed to think Bruno’s illness was an opportunity to borrow his clothes. Yet as much as he enjoyed Marco’s company, every time the doorbell rang, Bruno hoped it was Celia. She came once a week, and he had to be content with that.

  On her third visit she brought her sketchbook. When Bruno admitted he still couldn’t stand up for more than a few minutes, she shook her head with concern. “We both know this has something to do with the Ebentwine. I don’t know if it’ll help, but I want to try drawing you. I should have done that before now anyway. Do you mind?”

  “No,” Bruno said, immensely pleased as she sat down across from his bed.

  “Gwendolyn asked about you,” she said as she worked. “She told me you invited her for Thanksgiving. That’s a really lovely thing for you to do. I never thought about the doctors and nurses who are on duty on Thanksgiving. It’s too bad her mom has to work.”

  “Sure. Dad always invites parishioners who would be alone for the holidays. I just wish I was feeling better; it’s the day after tomorrow.” Suddenly Bruno began to feel a warmth in his limbs like he hadn’t felt for weeks. “Are you drawing my arms?” She nodded. “I feel like I can tell where your pen is.” She looked at him curiously, then went back to the drawing, and Bruno felt as if a ray of sun were dancing on his face. “Now you’re drawing my left eyebrow.”

  “Are you serious? You can feel that?”

  “I can. And it’s amazing—I almost feel stronger.”

  “Do you think it’s the drawing?”

  Bruno nodded. “Keep going.”

  By the time Celia had finished, Bruno felt better than he had before his fateful trip into the library stacks. “Why didn’t I do this weeks ago?” Celia marveled. “I never thought . . . I should have realized.”

  “How were you supposed to know?” Bruno wanted to hug her. Or go outside and run around. Mainly to hug her.

  12

  a person isn’t safe anywhere these days

  BRUNO’S RECOVERY MADE THANKSGIVING feel particularly meaningful. But Sylvio wasn’t in a festive mood. He grumbled, “Funny how we move to a different state, and the first Thanksgiving, we already have a table full of strangers.”

  “I kind of like it,” Bruno said. “It’s our tradition.”

  “Yeah, you’ve even invited a stranger of your own.” Sylvio stopped the car in front of Gwendolyn’s house. Bruno got out, enjoying the crisp air. After being trapped in his house for so long, it still felt like a miracle every time he went outside. He had finally mowed one of his lawns the day before, and it had been a thrill.

  Gwendolyn met him on the front walk. She wore a calico dress with a velvet blazer that made her look like a doll, and a ribbon tied in her ringlet ponytail.

  “Hi,” she said, hesitant but happy. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better! Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Thanks for coming. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she said. He opened the car door for her and felt like her date and her chauffeur at the same time. He hadn’t intended to be either.

  In the car Gwendolyn broke the silence. “So you’ve invited other . . .”

  “Strays?” Sylvio said. “I think the table is set for eleven, so that means six other people. At least we know you. Bruno and I haven’t even met these other people.”

  “Wow. Well, it’s a very nice thing to do.”

  “I know, and I’m a horrible person for being a Grinch about it. I should be nicer.”

  “It’s not wrong to want to do things just with your family,” Gwendolyn said.

  “Maybe that’s it. Sometimes it feels like Dad takes more of an interest in his parishioners than in us.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Bruno said.

  “I should just stop talking.”

  When they got back home, Bruno introduced Gwendolyn to his parents. His father welcomed her and introduced them to the rest of the guests: a widower, a mother and toddler, an elderly couple, and a foreign student at the local college. They started out shy and polite, but Bruno’s father lured them into conversations with one another with the ease of a minister who had been turning roomfuls of people into friends for years.

  Piano music floated in from the den, and the aromas of cider and roasting turkey wafted out of the kitchen. When it came time to be seated, Bruno motioned to Gwendolyn to take a place next to him. He was nervous because his parents clearly regarded Gwendolyn as his date, as did all the strangers, and of course Sylvio was doing everything he could to reinforce that impression. Bruno hadn’t considered how easily people would make the assumption, and it bothered him. But there was nothing to be done about it now.

  “This is the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had,” Gwendolyn said to him quietly when they were eating pie. “It really feels like a family meal, and all these people just met each other today.”

  “It’s weird how that happens,” Bruno said. “I like Thanksgiving better than Christmas. It’s all the good stuff: a break from school, lots of food, time with your family—and none of the hard things: what presents to get everyone, how to pretend you like a gift you don’t like . . .”

  Gwendolyn giggled. “I never thought about that.”

  He spoke softly, so no one else would hear. “What will you do for Christmas? I mean, won’t you have to see at least one of your parents?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes became distant. “I realize it can’t go on like this forever; I’m kind of surprised it’s gone on this long. I figured after a few weeks one of them would catch on. Or that Grandma wouldn’t need Mom there constantly, and she would just come home. But I think she’s using Grandma as an excuse to stay away, and now it’s just as easy to leave things as they are.”

  “Don’t you miss them? Either of them?”

  “Sometimes.” She searched his face. “When I have a bad day, or when something happens that I don’t know how to deal with. There was a mouse in the basement. I missed them then.”

  He caught a flicker of longing in her eyes. She was regarding him as her hero, and he couldn’t be surprised by it. But he looked away. He wondered if that was the look Celia had tried to describe—the look she said she received from Tomasi and him.

  As night fell, Sylvio d
rove them back to her house. Gwendolyn was more relaxed, and she chatted with Bruno about school. “Have you seen the ghost?” she asked. “Everyone talks about it. Apparently it’s some girl who died last year?”

  “One of our friends knew her,” Bruno said.

  “Really? Have you seen her?”

  “I have, but just down at the end of the hall a couple times. She hasn’t given me anything.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No, but he has a boyfriend,” Sylvio joked.

  “What? You’re gay?”

  “Sylvio’s being stupid because I’m friends with Marco,” Bruno said.

  “Oh. That guy who makes clothes? He’s nice. He smiles at me sometimes,” she said. “Well, if you don’t have a girlfriend, then the ghost can’t give you a note about when to catch her cheating on you.”

  “I guess not,” Bruno said.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend, so she doesn’t have any reason to give me anything, either.” Her voice was casual, but her meaning was clear. They were approaching her house. “Hey, why are all the lights on?”

  “Someone’s there,” Bruno said. Sylvio stopped the car, and Bruno and Gwendolyn got out.

  “That looks like my dad’s car,” Gwendolyn said. “If he’s here—” The front door opened and a man and a woman came out onto the porch. “They’re both here!” she said in despair.

  “Gwen? Where have you been?” her mother called to her.

  The three Winsomes met in the middle of the walk. Gwendolyn was in shock. “I went to have dinner at my friend’s house. What are you doing here?”

  “We both came home to surprise you, and it’s a good thing we did, since neither of us had any idea you were lying to us!” Her mother tried to be harsh, but her voice broke, and from the street Bruno could see she was crying. “Why would you do that?”