by R. T. Lowe
Tha-woomp.
One of the things disappeared.
Tha-woomp.
Something—a thing—was hurtling toward him. It was almost invisibly fast, a purple and orange blur against the backdrop of the forest. He lashed out with his knife and felt it slice across its body. It stopped in its tracks and backed up, snarling and gnashing its wicked-looking teeth. Robby saw with ripe satisfaction that he’d made a four-inch slit in the thing’s shirt (a purple and orange striped rugby with a white collar) just above its stomach, revealing a thin patch of beige skin dribbled over with black liquid. His blade hadn’t cut deep, but the oily liquid had to be the thing’s blood. And that meant he hurt it. And if he hurt it, maybe he could kill it. A whisper of hope rose up in his chest. Maybe he had a chance of getting out of here after all.
Robby’s pulse skipped a beat then raced like a hummingbird’s. Emboldened, he shouted fiercely, “Come on! Didn’t like that, did you? I’ll stick you like a pig next time! Come a little closer, you ugly ass monster! Come and get some!”
Tha-woomp.
Tha-woomp.
He felt a stinging pain high up on his back, near the shoulder blade. He tried to stab at whatever was behind him. His arm didn’t move. He looked down. A thing had snapped its jaws shut on his wrist. He twisted his head to the left and found himself staring into a pair of dull gray marbles set within puffy white clouds. He’d never seen gray eyes before. Didn’t Kelly Clarkson sing some song about gray eyes?
That was hazel eyes, you idiot! His brother’s voice. Even in death, he couldn’t escape Simon’s ridicule. For a moment, the thing’s lips parted in a thin smile, then it opened its mouth wide and bit down on the thick cord of muscle that ran from his neck to his shoulder. He could feel its teeth cutting through the flesh, slicing and grinding their way into the bone. But there wasn’t much pain, only an intense seizing pressure.
Then the pain came—a sharp searing pain that exploded up his arm. He looked on in horror as it ripped a chunk of flesh from his forearm. It stood up straight and stretched out its neck, swallowing it down in one mighty gulp. Blood, as warm as bath water, gushed from the wound. His hand lost all feeling and the knife slipped out of his fingers, falling into the fronds of a giant fern, disappearing beneath its stalks.
There was a burst of activity in front of him. The thing in the rugby was coming at him, mouth open, baring its horrible teeth. He felt a hand on the back of his neck; the next moment, his head was wrenched back violently and he was looking straight up, his eyes locked on a branch, crooked, black and bare. His throat was completely exposed. In the next instant, a thing—the one in the rugby?—sunk its teeth around his Adam’s apple, clamping its jaws shut.
Robby tried to scream, and a strangled wheezing gurgle, like water clearing from a snorkel, was all he could manage. He felt tired and weak. He wanted to sleep. His body grew slack and he fell to the ground. He was gazing up at a tiny pocket of sky. Sunshine filtered down greenly through the canopy, making the forest air appear as green as the moss he was laying on. He could hear the things. They were biting him, tussling over the chunks of flesh they were ripping from his body. They were all over him, on top of him, surrounding him, swarming him, fighting over the scraps. He felt a vague tugging sensation on his shoulder, then he saw a thing standing over him with his arm locked in its jaws, his high school class ring on the middle finger of the hand drooping out of its mouth.
That’s my right arm. It’s eating my right arm.
A crow flew overhead—the first animal he’d seen in the forest all day. A thing jumped from a nearby tree and snatched the crow out of the air, falling from the sky, clutching the squawking bird in its mouth. Before the thing crashed to the ground it vanished—tha-woomp.
Robby couldn’t move. He couldn’t scream. The sky was turning gray, as gray as the eyes staring down at him. He no longer felt any pain. Only a cold sense of sadness that his dad would never be proud of him.
Chapter 17
The Stalker
Felix sat on his bed looking down glumly at the Western Civ notes on his lap.
“You sure you don’t wanna go?” Lucas asked him. He was buttoning a shirt while checking his hair in the mirror. “Satler’s been having some pretty epic parties from what I hear.”
Felix sighed. “I can’t.”
“Because of the game?”
“Yeah. Gotta make sure I’m well rested when we get killed tomorrow.” The team they were playing was the current favorite to win the Rain Cup.
“Big mistake,” Lucas said with a grin. “I hear there’s no cover for supermodels with loose morals.”
Felix got up and tossed his notebook on the desk. He wanted to go, but Coach Bowman ‘strongly discouraged’ the players from partying before game days. Bowman was also strongly inclined to bench kids if he found out they’d been at a party. The girls were all going (it was all they’d talked about at dinner). Harper had even tried to convince him to go in disguise. He went over to the window and looked out through the rain-streaked glass, feeling sorry for himself and thinking it would be just his luck if she ended up meeting some other guy.
Someone was staring up at him. At first, Felix didn’t realize what it was because he was standing behind a tree and his head didn’t look like a head; it looked more like a bulbous tree wart. But then it occurred to him that the bulbous tree wart had eyes and was sporting a baseball hat.
“Lucas,” Felix whispered through clenched teeth. “Someone’s down there.”
“What?” Lucas said, still fumbling with a button on his sleeve.
Felix shifted his gaze to Lucas and feverishly waved him over. “Come here! Quick! Under that tree.” He turned back to the window.
He was gone.
Lucas rushed up beside him. “Where? What tree?” His head moved back and forth. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Shit! He just… disappeared. He was standing right there.” Felix stubbed a finger into the glass. “Next to the big tree there on the other side of that lamppost thing.”
Lucas pressed his nose into the window, staring out until his breath fogged up the glass. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Awesome,” Lucas said dryly and turned away from the window. He went over to his closet and took out a pair of shoes, then slumped down on his unmade bed. He sat there for a moment staring at the floor, a look of concern drifting over his face. “I wonder if… if that was…”
“Was what?” Felix took a seat on his desk.
“A while ago—like the first week of class—I thought some dude was following me around. I saw him like three times in three different places.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
Lucas shook his head as he rubbed a smudge off one of his shoes. “He was just some kid. Short. Wearing a hat. I tried to spring a little trap on him at the Student Center but ended up scaring the shit out of these two girls. One was cute though. Heather. She texts me all the time now. She’s seriously sweating me. I saw her a couple days ago and she practically dry humped the skin right off my leg.”
“The guy out there”—Felix looked toward the window—“had a hat on. You think maybe it was the same kid?”
Lucas shrugged. “Could be some other weird stalker.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, I guess. Not much I can do about it.” Lucas stood up and started for the door. “You sure you can’t come?”
“Wish I could.”
“Alright, dude. Hey—after the game you wanna do some clean-up at Woodrow’s? It’s been over two weeks and I don’t think Caitlin and them are gonna do it for us.”
“Sure,” Felix said listlessly. “Why not.”
“Cool.” Lucas stood at the door for a moment with one hand on the knob, then he turned around, his expression troubled. “Don’t worry about the party. They’re having another one tomorrow. The ones on Saturday are usually more fun, anyway.”
“I’m good.”
“Oka
y. Later, dude.”
“Later.”
After Lucas slipped out into the hallway, Felix picked up his notebook and stretched out on his bed. He tried to concentrate, but the rain was distracting. He set his notes aside and listened to it pounding against the window. It reminded him of home—of sitting in the kitchen with his dad at their little table. Images suddenly crowded into his mind, the psychic partitions holding them back instantly vanishing. He could see his parents’ faces. He could hear their voices. His mom was baking another batch of cupcakes. His dad was telling her that she was going to make him fat. Felix was finishing off his second and starting his third because he never gained an ounce no matter how much he ate. And all the while, he could hear the sound of the rain drumming on the roof. The kitchen was warm. A fire crackled in the living room. Chocolate, spices and burning wood filled the air. His mom was bringing him a glass of warm apple juice. His dad was joking that he had to get down on his knees and grovel to get her to bring him anything. Felix felt warmth. He felt loved. He felt like he was part of a family. His family.
Now he felt empty and alone. He had no family. His family was dead. He turned toward the wall, covered his head with his pillow and closed his eyes.
Chapter 18
The Ghost and St. Rose
The glowing red digits on Felix’s clock informed him that it was 3:15. Lucas’s desk lamp was making an island of light in the darkened room. He didn’t remember turning it on. He rubbed his eyes, then looked over at Lucas’s bed. Still unmade. But no Lucas. He lay there for a while trying to go back to sleep, but it was an exercise in absurdity. He was wide awake, uncomfortable (he was still wearing his clothes from the day before), and feeling terrible. He’d let the sadness go too far and it had carried him away. Now it was like a physical sickness; it was sticking to him, coating him. If he didn’t get it off, it would burn right through his skin and eat at him for days.
His spine popped like dominos when he stood up and stretched. He threw on a hooded sweatshirt and a baseball hat and slipped out of the dorm, emerging into a cool misty drizzle. There wouldn’t be another warm day until May—just another thing to be depressed about. No one was hanging out in the Freshman Yard except for a clutch of kids smoking cigarettes under a tree on the north end by Satler, where it looked like the party was still raging. Music was pouring out through open windows on the top two floors. He thought his friends must still be there, and wondered if they were having fun. Of course they were having fun. Why wouldn’t they be?
I should’ve gone to the party, he thought miserably, giving himself a swift mental kick to the ass. Now he was missing out on a good time and he still wouldn’t get any sleep before the game. Instead, he was about to wander the campus like a loser when he could be… what? Hooking up with Harper? Not likely. But he felt like he had a shot. Of course he had no shot at all if he didn’t try. He was telling himself that he wasn’t at the party because of Coach Bowman’s dumb rules. But the rules were just that: dumb. He could get around them; Bowman didn’t have a spy network reporting back to him on rule-breakers. So did that mean he wasn’t trying? But why wouldn’t he try? He wanted to hook up with Harper. Desperately. Thinking about ravaging her perfect body occupied almost as much time as football practice; it was how he made it through his classes when he grew bored or couldn’t focus. But if they did hook up—big if—it wouldn’t end there. She would want to get to know him. Of course. And it wouldn’t take long—maybe five minutes—for Harper to realize he was a total wreck. And once she discovered that she would reject him. Just like Emma had rejected him. He couldn’t handle that. Despite how much he liked her. Not even Harper was worth that risk.
With a very melancholy soundtrack playing in his head, he dug his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt and headed toward The Yard. He turned and walked backward for a spell, letting his feet feel their way along the cobblestones in the soft glow of the pathlights. From a distance, Downey looked peaceful—the rooms were dark, the blinds drawn—a tomb compared to Satler. Everyone in Downey was asleep… or getting lucky. But not Felix. Luck had a strong aversion to him.
He passed by the first few lecture halls on the north side of The Yard without seeing a soul. There was nothing but empty paths and lawns drifted with wet heavy leaves. Alone with his thoughts, he began thinking about the guy he’d caught staring up at his room. The guy. It didn’t have to be a guy, of course. Girls could be stalkers too. Either way, he couldn’t understand why anyone would wait out in the rain just to catch a glimpse of Lucas with his shirt off. So what if he was on TV. What was the point? He just didn’t get it.
Voices off to his right made him jump. His eyes flitted up to a sheltering overhang at the entrance of the Culver building where he found the culprits: two kids making out. Felix wasn’t alone after all. He watched them for a moment and a puddle of cold water that submerged his sneaker right up to the shoelaces was the reward for his voyeurism.
The Yard looked as desolate as a stretch of farmland. Dew frosted the grass, sparkling beneath the haze. He drew in a deep breath as he rolled the kinks from his neck. He liked the way everything smelled. It was as if the trees and plants were giving off some wonderful floral scent in appreciation of the long drink the elements had bestowed on them. The cold was depressing, though he didn’t mind the rain. When you grow up in a town where it’s sloppy wet 250 days a year you have one choice: get used to it.
He wasn’t sure where he was going. But that was the plan. He didn’t care where he ended up. The night air felt good; it was already having a soothing effect. He passed another shadowed lecture hall and found a path that wound its way north as it hugged a dense thicket of sculpted shrubs. It split into two paths to accommodate a specimen tree of some sort, then reconnected on the other side at the edge of an English garden tucked in behind the building. He’d never been this way before. He didn’t stop to admire the plantings, though he was sure they were quite lovely. Horticulture wasn’t his thing. The mist was thickening, creating a haloing effect with the pathlights. Just past the garden, he came to a clearing where five trees were standing guard like monstrous sentinels—the Star Trees. The towering goliaths formed the shape of a five-pointed star, each tree acting as a point. He’d heard some kids talking about it at the dorm, but he didn’t know where it was. Until now.
As he neared the southernmost tree, he stopped to have a look around. He tilted his head back, trying to see the tops, but swirling curtains of fog covered them up. The rain lightly spritzed his face like a spray bottle set to mist. It was refreshing. Coming outside had turned out to be a good idea; it was just what he needed. He looked back down and started toward the—
A woman, her back turned to him, stood in the center of the clearing. The sight of her startled him, freezing him in place for a moment. He was sure she wasn’t there just a second ago. He kept his eyes on her as he reached out for the tree next to him, feeling the rough bark brush across his fingertips as he slid slowly past it. Her clothes were really odd; it looked like she’d gotten lost on her way home from a costume party—Cinderella came to mind. She was wearing a flowing blue dress that bunched up on the ground all around her. The dress was sleeveless, and her arms, so pale that they shone, hung loosely at her sides. Her hair was dark and long—he couldn’t tell if it was brown or black—and it cascaded in lustrous gentle curls to her narrow waist.
“Hey,” Felix called out, approaching the woman. “What are you doing out here?” The rain stopped all at once. Of their own accord, his eyes flicked up to the enormous branches of the Star Trees which all met in the center of the clearing, forming a canopy that kept everything beneath them comfortably dry.
She cocked her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheek and the visible part of her jaw were so white it looked like she was wearing stage makeup. If it wasn’t 3:30 in the morning, he would have thought she was about to perform at the school theater.
“Hey,” he said again. She was close now, no more th
an ten feet away. Her arms were disturbingly pale, and he wondered if she was standing next to a light he couldn’t see. Something had to be making her appear this way. Or was something wrong with her? Was she sick?
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded twice, stiffly.
“Are you hurt?” He took another step. He was close enough to smell her perfume if she was wearing any—she wasn’t. Another step. If he reached out he could touch her.
She shook her head. Her shimmering hair—it was dark, but not quite black—swayed elegantly over her shoulders and across her back. His eyes followed the contours of her slender arms down to her fingers, long and delicate, ending in fingernails that were flawless, and somewhat pointy. Her fingers were white. Too white. Bone white. Vampire! he thought suddenly, his heart lurching to his throat. An icy fear swept over him as he looked up, expecting to see the face of a monster.
But the person in front of him didn’t have fangs. And she wasn’t a monster. Far from it. The beautiful woman before him was staring at him, the traces of an inscrutable smile hovering at the edges of her red lips. Her green eyes blazed like smoldering emeralds, roaming over his face, measuring him. She looked older than the girls on campus, but not that much older, and it was hard for Felix to gauge her exact age because his brain had shifted into panic mode like the time he went camping in the fourth grade and discovered he was sharing his sleeping bag with a garter snake.
And then—without warning—she turned and ran.
Felix felt his feet lift off the ground and take flight after her.
He had no idea why he was running after her. He just was. A voice in his head was telling him that running was the right thing to do, but that he should be running in exactly the opposite direction—back to the dorm. Ignoring the voice, he ran ahead. The woman’s dark hair trailed out behind her as she darted between two of the Star Trees and headed west, already distancing herself from him. He was going faster now, sprinting full bore, passing under hugely thick branches, but still not gaining any ground. It wasn’t in Felix’s nature to be confident about anything, but he was pretty certain he was the fastest kid on campus. And now a woman dressed like she’d been at the prom was outpacing him, and she was doing it in the strangest way. Her arms weren’t even moving; they remained by her sides—and perfectly still—as she ran.