by Drew Beatty
store I went into had exactly what I needed.
I dropped off my bike behind the barn and hurried inside the house. I ran up to my bedroom and stashed my purchase under my bed.
“What's going on, son?” my mom said from behind me. I jumped up.
“I was just making my bed, and then I was going to put up my curtains,” I said, heart pounding in my throat. “Why aren't you working?”
“It's called taking a break, I was going down to get a drink when I heard you crashing around in here. Is that how you are going to leave your bed?”
I looked down at the twisted mess of blankets and sheets. “No, I was just tucking in the bottom sheet. Now I'll do the top stuff.”
She looked at me, wondering what I had just tucked under my mattress. The truth was stranger than what she must suspect. Eventually she nodded her head. “Let me know if you need help with your curtains.” I could hear her walking down the stairs and into the kitchen. I threw my bed together and got my stupid curtains out of their package.
My mom walked back up the stairs, through her bedroom to the attic. I jumped down from my chair, curtains finally hung.
It was a short walk between my room and my parents, but the hardwood floor groaned like a suffering old man under every footstep. I crept as quietly as I could, and pushed open the door to my parent’s room. My mom had decorated it with country living in mind, a big wooden bed sat in the middle of the floor, with rustic bookcases and drawers lining the walls. There was a staircase along one wall, leading to her studio. She was up there now, working on her latest project. I crept in carefully. There was no door at the top of the stairs, but her back was to me, eyes trained on her many monitors. I scanned the room looking for my mom's jewelry box. She had a silver bracelet, pure silver. I hoped that it would kill were-squirrels as well as it killed werewolves. I willed myself to remain silent as I crossed the room to her drawers. Apparently my mom's latest project didn't have sound. It was so quiet I could hear her clicking the mouse and breathing.
I pulled out the top drawer, hoping she still kept her jewelry there. I pushed past her bras, wincing inwardly as I did so, until I found the box at the back. I froze as my mom shifted in her chair above me, but she didn’t get up. I held my breath as I opened the lid. Inside I found a tangled mess of chains, bracelets, and earrings. I could see one loop of the bracelet I wanted sticking out from the bottom of the pile. I started pulling apart the chains, one link at a time. The room wasn't very hot, but my back was getting sticky with sweat. Each time I moved the chains, they clattered together, gold, pearls and glass sounding like a miniature wind chime. After an eternity, I freed the bracelet from the rest of the mess.
After tucking the box away, I slipped out of the bedroom and tucked the bracelet under my mattress. I was ready for tonight.
“So how was downtown?” my dad asked at dinner, feeling the tension in the room.
“Not very exciting,” I replied. I kept a poker face, but I was thinking about Star, the way her hair bounced as she ran to her father's truck. “Not like Queen Street.”
“Nothing is like Queen Street,” my dad replied. “Even Queen Street. Did you meet anyone?”
“Nope. Can I be excused?”
“Sure Daniel,” my mother replied. She watched me carefully.
“I'm going up to my room,” I said as I left the kitchen. I could hear my parents talking about me as I went up the stairs. My mom was still worried about me, that much was clear. She had no idea.
I pulled the bracelet from its hiding space and sat at my desk. I tried to pull the links apart, but the bracelet was surprisingly strong, it wouldn’t break. I rummaged around in my drawers, and found a bike repair kit. Tucked inside was an old Leatherman, complete with wire snips. The bracelet was short work after that, I sniped the links and finished with ten round silver balls. I pulled out the slingshot from under my bed and took a few practice shots into my pillow. I knew that under controlled circumstances in a well-lit room I could hit a pillow from a couple of feet away. Out in the forest, at night, trying to hit squirrel shaped targets, I would have to see.
I found a couple of LED lights from my old bike, and tucked them in my pockets. One clipped onto a helmet. I always thought it looked pretty dorky, but considering I would have my hands full, I realized how useful it would be.
Darkness was falling. My parents were downstairs watching television. I opened my bedroom window and looked out. The moon was perched on the treetops, the silver glow of it hanging like a silent accuser, a giant twin to the small globes tucked in my pocket.
I reached out and grabbed the drain spout that ran alongside my window. The movies always made this trick seem so easy, but it’s actually really hard to do. When I got to the ground I looked up and realized that I had no idea how I would get back inside. Things were going well so far.
I hopped on my bike and clipped on the LEDs, their glow lighting up the night.
The forest was dark, a darkness more than I had ever known. Even with the moon bright overhead, and the stars shining in a way I had never seen in Toronto, the darkness was almost palpable. The light did not penetrate through the canopy of trees, I had only my bike lights to guide my way through the narrow, twisted pathways.
I knew I was getting close when the crickets grew silent. As though an invisible door had shut, suddenly the noise stopped. I leaned my bike up against a tree, and pulled the slingshot from my pocket.
It was a heavy thing, all curved metal and industrial strength elastic. I placed a silver ball into the little cup and flexed the elastic, taking slow, careful steps down the hill to where the trees grew thin.
A sudden rustle, little more than the wind in the trees, made the hair on my neck stand up. A branch snapped behind me, I spun and spotted one of the smaller ones, running along the ground, darting between patches of light and dark. Its thick fur bristled as it ran; I could see its eyes shining, glowing red as it approached. I pulled the slingshot back, took aim and fired.
I missed completely, striking a patch of dirt feet away. I quickly reloaded and fired again. The squirrel flinched, fell back, blood pouring from its cheek. I watched it for a moment as it shrank down to look like a regular squirrel again. His brothers jumped on me from behind, one on my head, one on my back. They dug their claws into me, blood poured into my eyes as the one on my head sliced neatly through my skin. I used the slingshot as a club and knocked it away, before throwing myself into a tree to knock the one from my back. I grabbed another pair of silver balls, firing wildly. Four balls down, six to go. The squirrels looked up at me from where they had fallen, my blood matting their fur. Their teeth and claws shone sharp and bright red in the moonlight that peeked between the branches.
They growled at me, a deep, wretched sound. I fired another shot, clipped one. It keeled over, shrank like the first one had. I could still hear the others above me, running through the branches.
The one on the ground darted towards me, claws outstretched to slice my leg. I brought my foot down pinning it to the ground. I could feel its bones breaking through my shoe. I wasn't sure if that would be enough, so I bent and shot a piece of silver into his head. That killed it.
Three down, two to go, but only four of my silver bullets left. It had to be enough.
I scanned the tree branches, looking for any sign of them, but I saw nothing. I was sure that there were two left, but they weren't showing themselves. I started back for my bike, hoping to draw them out.
As I reached the crest of the hill, I realized my mistake. The tires on my bike were shredded, the chain snapped. It was useless. Several acres of forest, and a couple of seriously angry were-squirrels, lay between me and safety.
I hefted my bike up on my shoulder and started for home. It wasn't until I was out of the forest, cutting through the cornfield to home that I realized that I hadn't heard a single animal, no birds or bats. Nothing crept underfoot, nothing flew by. I stopped in my tracks to listen, trying to hear something, anything. But it w
as as silent as a tomb. More silence than I knew existed.
I spotted them when I pushed out of the cornfield, perched on the top of the barn, waiting for me. The parents, the bigger ones. The daddy had a twisted scar running down the length of his belly, pure white against his rich red fur. Momma bared her fangs at me, emitting an other worldly growl that shook the night air I moved with a sudden grace I didn’t know I possessed. I pulled a silver ball from my pocket, armed the slingshot and fired, all on one smooth motion. I could see the ball arch through the darkness, reflecting the light of the stars, spread like a canopy overhead.
I missed completely; I was way too far away. Two more were-squirrels to kill, three balls left. The were-squirrels jumped down from the top of the barn, crashing to the ground. I could feel the shock as they hit the ground. They were huge, easily the size of barn cats. If that doesn't sound very big, you have to imagine rabid, muscular barn cats, racing toward you at top speed with murder in their eyes because you had just killed their children.
I sent another piece of silver into the night, missed, and missed again. They came at me. I stood my ground, pulled the slingshot back as far as I could, my muscles were screaming at me, but still I waited. I couldn't miss this shot. They came, I held on, hands growing sweaty, arm twitching with