The Chronicles of Trellah, Book One: The Perpetual Rain

by T. S. Graham

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Sophina said eagerly. “We don’t need to be stuck here. The Harrises are opening the old Grange Hall as a shelter, and they want us to come. They’ve got a generator, so we won’t be in the dark.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Murray said with an unexpected lack of enthusiasm, “but we can’t leave without the car—not when there could be another storm.”

  “But you said the power could be out for days,” Sophina pointed out. “We can’t just sit here and wait for it to come back on.”

  “You’re right,” Mrs. Murray conceded, “we can’t stay here the whole time. When I’m sure it’s safe outside, we’ll go. Until then, we have plenty of food and wood for the fire. I think it’ll be fun to rough it, don’t you?”

  Sophina nodded, but with far less verve than Eliot.

  “Good. Then I’ll make supper while you two go and collect batteries for the flashlights. Everything is fair game, including the ones in your robots, Eliot.”

  The children went upstairs and gathered all the loose batteries from the hallway closet. Eliot topped off his pile by cleaning out his considerable collection of toy robots, while Sophina went to her room and packed a week’s worth of her best clothes into a duffel bag—just in case they went to the shelter sooner than planned.

  They arrived back in the kitchen to find their mom adjusting the dial of an old battery-powered radio, trying to coax the voice of a news reporter out of the static that hissed through the speaker.

  “A woman was injured at Thomasville Middle School today when a tree branch f—” The voice faded out, and then came back strong: “—Others barely escaped with their lives when a surge of floodwater slammed into the Sligo River Bridge, tearing the seventy-year-old structure apart as dozens of onlookers—”

  Again the voice was swallowed up by a sea of interference, forcing Mrs. Murray to tinker with the dial.

  “—according to meteorologists, two separate microburst events brought 130-mile-an-hour winds and several inches of rain to the area in a matter of minutes, leaving hundreds stranded—”

  The voice disappeared once again into the chaos, this time for good.

  “What’s a my-co-bust?” Eliot asked.

  “A microburst,” Mrs. Murray corrected. “It’s a powerful storm that affects only a small area. The wind comes straight down out of the sky and spreads out across the ground in a circle, just like what happens when you pour syrup on your pancakes. Except the wind moves a lot faster than syrup.”

  Sophina was glad Eliot had asked the question, because she too had never heard of a microburst. If such storms affected only small areas, then it made sense that the damage was more severe at the school than it was in their neighborhood.

  “Neat,” said Eliot, quite unaffected by the whole thing. “Can we make s’mores?”

  “That’s a fine idea,” answered Mrs. Murray as cheerfully as she could. “It’ll be like having a campfire in our living room.”

  Sophina and Eliot each carried a platter of food into the living room, ready to be cooked over the fire. Eliot’s dish slipped from his hands as he set it upon the coffee table, causing a single hot dog to tumble off the pile and onto the floor.

  “You’re such a klutz,” Sophina said in frustration.

  She knew she had made a mistake even before Eliot’s expression turned sour.

  “Why are you being mean to me?”

  Yesterday Sophina would have argued with Eliot and tried to tell him he was wrong, that he had misunderstood her intentions all those times she’d spoken harshly to him, but not today. She had already caused enough damage.

  “You’re right,” she said instead. “I haven’t been as nice to you as I should be—and you deserve better.” She knelt down in front of Eliot. It was clear by the way he was gripping the edge of the couch cushion that she had hurt his feelings more than she realized, and she felt awful because of it.

  “I’m so sorry,” she continued sincerely. “Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one who misses Dad. I’ve been selfish, but I promise I won’t be that way anymore.”

  Eliot was on the verge of tears, which only deepened Sophina’s guilt.

  “Will you forgive me?” she asked. “I really need you to, because I can’t get through this without you.”

  Eliot snuffled one last time and nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  Sophina embraced her brother as the rain outside intensified. It may have sounded like a normal rainstorm, but she knew that could change in the blink of an eye.

  * * *

  Crumbs of hot-dog buns and graham crackers littered the floor after what had turned out to be the most enjoyable meal the Murray family had eaten in a long time. There were no sticks for roasting, so they’d improvised by using kabob skewers. The skewers were too short, and they’d all laughed watching each other jump back as sparks shot out of the fire and onto their hands at the most inopportune moments. It was like old times between Sophina and Eliot, who had playfully stuffed marshmallows into each other’s mouths and played a board game together. She had then read a bedtime story to Eliot, who fell asleep with his head in her lap.

  After cleaning up, Mrs. Murray settled herself on the sofa next to her children and gazed into the flames that she had so diligently stoked. If life had a pause button, Sophina would’ve pressed it right then. “Maybe being trapped here will be a good thing,” said Mrs. Murray with an air of contentment. “When it’s over, I think we’ll know each other better than we ever have.”

  Sophina rested her head on her mom’s shoulder as Eliot exhaled with a little snore.

  “I wish I could fall asleep that easily,” said Mrs. Murray.

  “You have trouble sleeping, too?” asked Sophina with surprise.

  “I have trouble with lots of things these days,” her mom admitted.

  “But the way you act . . . It seems like nothing bothers you.”

  Mrs. Murray turned to Sophina, a single glistening tear on her cheek.

  “You’re crying. I haven’t seen you cry since Dad’s funeral.”

  “That’s because you don’t see me after the lights go out.”

  “I didn’t know. I just thought you were stronger than me.”

  “No one is stronger than you,” stated Mrs. Murray. “You’ve dealt with more in two months than most people do in a lifetime, and I couldn’t be prouder of the way you’ve handled yourself.”

  Now it was Sophina’s turn to look at the fire through tears. Sure, her mom had just paid her a compliment, but it was the kind that tied your insides into knots.

  “Sophina, I miss your dad more than anyone but you and Eliot can imagine,” said Mrs. Murray, brushing the bangs from Sophina’s eyes. “But my focus needs to be on the two of you right now.”

  Sophina felt a hand on her cheek, guiding her wandering eyes back to her mom.

  “I fell in love with your father the day we met—and I loved him even more the day he died. That will never change.”

  Sophina was overwhelmed with appreciation. The last two months had been difficult for sure, but how much worse would it have been if her mom hadn’t kept her own emotions in check? What if she had locked herself in her bedroom and wallowed in self pity, instead of being there at her children’s side every time they needed her? She swallowed back the lump in her throat, and then spoke the only words that came to mind:

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  * * *

  Sophina brushed her teeth by candlelight, thankful that Thomasville’s public water system was still working. She then carried the candle to Eliot’s bedroom and looked in on him as he slept. His eyes had remained shut when Mrs. Murray carried him upstairs, a sight that stirred memories in Sophina of the times her dad had done the same thing for her. The sensation of floating, of not being fully asleep yet feeling too safe and cozy in his arms to open her eyes, was something she remembered as if it was yesterday.

  Sophina closed Eliot’s door and moved into her bedroom. She p
laced the candle into a clear glass bowl on her nightstand, climbed fully dressed under the cold sheets of her bed, and watched the flame dance over a reflective pool of liquid wax.

  She thought about Mrs. Emerson, and how little she knew about her life outside of school. Did she have any children, or family that lived nearby? If so, were they at Doc Bailey’s house, or had they been cut off from her when the bridge washed away? Either way, she knew all too well the emotions they must be feeling. She wished she could help them, but knew there was nothing she could do.

  As she lay awake, her mind inevitably drifted to thoughts of her father. She imagined him bending down and kissing her forehead, like he had done countless times after returning home late from a fishing trip. She clung to the image as long as she could, but it soon faded. Emptiness gripped her as it had every night since the tragedy.

  She stifled her grief by visualizing herself back in Eliot’s room, watching the rise and fall of his chest beneath the blankets.

  If he can fall asleep, then I can too, she told herself. She was comforted by the fact that Eliot wasn’t angry with her when he’d dozed off. There had been many nights when he was upset, and she was partly responsible for that. But that would never happen again. She would make sure of it.

  Sophina relaxed as the din of the rain on the window faded away. Then, for the first time in two months, she drifted off to sleep with pleasant thoughts in her head.

  * * *

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  Sophina opened her eyes as a lightning flash illuminated the bedroom. The battery-powered clock on her nightstand read 3:50 a.m.

  Clack . . . Clack. Clack.

  BOOM!

  Thunder rattled the window as she sat up and faced the door. The noise that had awakened her sounded like a dog’s claws scratching the wooden floor outside her room—which wouldn’t have been strange if they’d had a dog.

  Sophina listened as the thunder waned, but heard nothing. Perhaps she’d imagined it. Her dreams had been vivid of late.

  Clack . . . Clack. Clack. Clack.

  Now she knew it wasn’t a dream. The clacking footsteps had moved farther down the hall, away from her and Eliot’s bedrooms. She got out of bed and took a step toward the door, but froze when a familiar voice called out from the other side: “Give it back!”

  “Eliot? What are you doing?”

  She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. In the faint light, she could just make out the shape of Eliot’s white pajamas as he hurried down the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” she whispered, not wanting to wake their mom.

  Clack . . . Clack. Clack.

  A horrible shiver cascaded down Sophina’s spine. The footsteps came from the base of the stairs, well below where Eliot now treaded. Something stirred in the downstairs hallway—a shadowy figure that her brother followed, step for step.

  “Mom, is that you?” she asked with a glimmer of hope.

  The figure froze. Sophina squinted into the dark, trying to focus her eyes as what looked like a massive, closed fist extended toward Eliot. A soft red glow emanated from between its bony fingers.

  One thing was certain: Whoever was down there, it wasn’t their mom.

  Sophina inhaled to scream as the fist opened, revealing an incandescent red stone. A powerful aura of tranquility washed through her body and mind as her eyes fixed on the luminous rock—and she forgot what she’d been about to do.

  Delicate waves of energy swirled behind the stone’s transparent surface, each one a different shade of crimson. It was like watching countless tints of red paint mixing together without ever fully blending. Sophina couldn’t look away from it. She didn’t want to. It was so beautiful . . .

  Suddenly, a frenzied lightning flash revealed a ghastly sight. The hand beneath the rock was lined with scales, and yellow claws curved out beyond contorted knuckles. The figure’s head and body were masked by a black cloak, except for two reptilian legs with clawed feet exposed below the tattered fabric.

  “It’s mine!” cried Eliot as he grabbed for the stone.

  “Mom!” Sophina’s scream was engulfed by a thunderclap as the beast lurched down the hallway on all fours, its clawed hands and feet clacking on the floor as Eliot followed. Two huge, glowing red eyes glared up at her from within the cloak hood as the creature disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Eliot, stop!” Sophina shrieked as she flew downstairs.

  “Sophina, what’s happening?”

  A loud crash rang out from above as Mrs. Murray shoved open her bedroom door, but Sophina had no time to answer her mother’s call.

  “Get away from it!” she screamed as she leapt to the floor and sprinted through the hallway to the kitchen. She saw Eliot’s pajamas through the wide-open back door, silhouetted against the enormous shape of the creature as it tore across the yard.

  “Sophina, Eliot! Where are you?”

  Sophina careened outside into a vicious downpour. Her feet slipped on the grass as a streak of crimson flames shot through the air ahead of the beast. Then, a dome of dazzling red light formed over the ground at the back of the lawn.

  “I can’t find you!” Mrs. Murray bellowed as the fiery dome swelled and intensified. Bursts of energy pulsed from its core with an electric hiss.

  Eliot faltered before the inferno as a sinister hand reached back for him. Two more desperate strides and Sophina dove, blindly grasping for her brother. But he wasn’t there, and she belly-flopped empty-handed into the cold muck.

  When she looked up, the dome of light was gone. In its place a swath of clear, starlit sky stretched out before her. She lay paralyzed, unable to comprehend what she was seeing: a smoldering-edged hole suspended in thin air, surrounded by the clouds and rain that had long choked out the Thomasville sky. Somewhere between her and a red-hued horizon, huge patches of stars were blotted out by what looked to be trees—trees of inconceivable sizes, the likes of which simply could not exist.

  In front of the trees, two figures ran away from her through a clearing, one monstrous, the other small. They moved with uncanny speed toward a second cloaked figure, which stood with a burning torch held high above its head.

  Sophina shoved herself up out of the mud as a dreadful ripping sound assaulted her ears. She took one hard, instinctual step forward when a ferocious blast of hot air and blinding white light knocked her backwards onto the spongy ground.

  3 THE GATEWAY

  Sophina covered her stinging eyes and screamed. Despite the unbearable pain, she forced her eyes to open so she could scan the dark, rain-swept yard—a challenge unto itself given the phantom blobs of white light that now blurred her vision.

  The smoldering-edged window to that other place had vanished, along with her brother.

  “Sophina! Why are you outside? Where’s Eliot?”

  Sophina heard her mom’s voice, but was powerless to respond. Her throat was too dry to speak, even as water poured over her lips. All she could do was strain her traumatized eyes, trying to coax Eliot’s shape out of the gloom where he had stood just moments ago.

  “Sophina, tell me what’s happening!”

  “—Eliot—” Sophina croaked as her mom pulled her to her feet.

  “What about Eliot? Where is he?”

  “It . . . it took him!”

  “Who took him?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Which way did they go?” Mrs. Murray shouted. She saw Sophina’s bewildered expression and knew she wouldn’t get an answer, so she turned and ran in the direction her daughter was gawking, bellowing Eliot’s name as she went.

  Sophina had no clue what phenomenon had just transported Eliot to that other world—the world of red-hued skies and impossibly large trees—but she had a powerful feeling who did know. She had seen that red color and heard those ripping sounds before—through Mrs. Tanner’s basement window.

  Sophina spun around just as a curtain in Mrs. Tanner’s turret fell slack, masking the small strip of candlelight that
had been exposed. Someone had been watching her from above, and knowing that ignited a fury unlike any she had ever felt before. She sprinted headlong toward Mrs. Tanner’s front porch, hardly noticing as the crushed stone of the driveway tore the heels of her socks. She leapt up the stairs and pounded her fist on the solid mahogany door.

  “Open this door, Mrs. Tanner!”

  She stepped over to a window and rapped her knuckles on the glass.

  “I know you’re in there. I saw you in the window!”

  The curtain drew back, revealing Mrs. Tanner’s scowling face. “Stop this instant,” she yelled, “or I’ll call the police!”

  “Go ahead and call them,” Sophina fired back. “Eliot’s been kidnapped—and I think you know something about it!”

  Mrs. Tanner hesitated, then let go of the curtain. Several clicks rang out as locks were released. Then, the front door swung open.

  “Eliot’s been taken?” Mrs. Tanner asked in as soft a voice as she could manage.

  “I saw a light in your basement—caused by the same type of fire that just burned in my yard. It opened a doorway to a place with no clouds. A monster took Eliot there!”

  “Monster?” repeated Mrs. Tanner. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about!” Sophina said angrily. “You painted your window black to hide it—but I saw everything. You can’t fool me!”

  Mrs. Tanner remained relaxed in the face of Sophina’s barrage. She kept the door pulled tight to her body, blocking any view of the candlelit foyer behind her.

  “I’m sorry about Eliot; I do hope you find him soon. But I won’t stand here and be accused of knowing something about his abduction when I don’t. When the police arrive, I’ll be happy to tell them the same thing. Goodnight, Sophina.”

  Lightning flashed as Mrs. Tanner stepped back to close the door, illuminating a garment that hung from a coat tree in the foyer: a tattered black cloak.