Arlo Finch in the Valley of Fire

by John August

  Wade squinted in the crack of sunlight. Cold air spilled around the edges of the door. Arlo braced for impact.

  But it never came.

  “There’s nothing out there.” Wade pushed the door open wider so Arlo could see.

  Uncle Wade was clearly going blind, because the horse was no more than twenty feet away, pacing back and forth like a lion at the zoo.

  “You really don’t see it? It’s right there.” Arlo pointed.

  Wade shrugged. “I don’t see anything. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Lots of eldritch things are basically invisible. That’s why you don’t see photos of them.”

  “Then why can I see it?”

  “Same reason you see Cooper, I guess. Maybe it’s your weird eyes.” Arlo knew he didn’t mean it as an insult. “What’s it doing?”

  “It’s just walking around. Why isn’t it trying to get in?”

  “I got serious wards on this building. Not just the alarm, but real totems built into the walls. Cost me a pretty penny. But it keeps the bad stuff out.”

  “So we’re safe? We can just stay here and wait for it to go away?”

  Wade shook his head. “Waiting’s no good. What happens when your mom comes back? Or your sister? Just because they can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. We’re gonna have to find a way to deal with it.”

  “You mean, kill it?”

  Wade scoffed. “Good luck with that.” He headed back through the plastic doorway. Arlo followed him, nervous to leave the shed door open.

  He found his uncle rooting through a particularly deep pile of junk on one of the side tables, searching for something. He didn’t seem as panicked as Arlo thought he should be. “Best we can hope for is to abjure it. Send it back where it belongs.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “Not precisely.” He pulled out a book. Wrong one. He tossed it aside.

  “But in general?”

  “General theory, sure. First we gotta know what we’re dealing with.” He finally found what he was looking for. It was an old book, warped with water damage. Arlo instantly recognized the cover: Culman’s Bestiary. Uncle Wade had had one all this time. “Now, you said it’s a horse?”

  “Like a horse. But with horns.”

  Wade skimmed through the index in the back of the book. “What kind of horns? Elk? Rhino? Unicorn?”

  “There are unicorns?”

  “What, you think people are just making them up?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, what else is real? Dragons? Giants?”

  Uncle Wade snapped his reading glasses together. They connected with magnets at the bridge of his nose. “Let’s focus on the thing trying to kill you, all right?”

  “It had round horns. They curled back on themselves.” Arlo traced the air with his fingers. “And its mouth opened super, super wide.”

  “Sounds like a nightmare,” said Wade, flipping through the book.

  Arlo nodded. “It was.”

  “No, I mean a Night Mare. Two words. ‘Mare’ is another name for a horse.”

  Arlo nodded. Night Mare was the perfect name for the creature.

  Wade had a hard time finding the page he was looking for. Then he realized several of the pages were stuck together. He carefully peeled them apart, ripping the paper in a few places. He turned the book to show Arlo the illustration. “Is that it?”

  It was just a pen-and-ink drawing, but it was definitely the same creature. “That’s it. That’s what’s out there.”

  Wade read the entry to himself in a whispered mumble. Arlo didn’t catch much of it. His attention drifted over to the workbench, where he could see what his uncle was working on. It wasn’t like any of the standard taxidermy animals in the dining room. This was much more elaborate, featuring a badger with a crown slumped back in a throne made of doll arms. Three squirrels dressed as jesters were juggling for the Badger King’s amusement while a pigeon with a sword kept watch. Even in its unfinished state, the piece was extraordinary, equal parts creepy and beautiful and funny.

  Arlo pointed to it. “That’s really cool.”

  “Oh. Thank you. Trying something new.” Then, back to the book—“We need to find some salt.”

  According to Culman’s Bestiary, shadow creatures like Night Mares could only cross into our world through moonlit lakes deep in the Long Woods. The magical water from those pools clung to their fur, protecting them while they traveled. That’s why it looked so glossy, thought Arlo.

  Wade read aloud from the book. “Once the water dries, or is tainted by salt, the creature is immediately dispelled.”

  “So we just have to dump salt on it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you have any salt?”

  “Not out here. Only salt you’re gonna find is in the house. There’s some in the kitchen by the stove.”

  But that meant leaving the safety of the scary dark terror shed. Arlo waited for his uncle to volunteer to make the run. Neither spoke for a few moments. Then Wade nodded.

  “Way I see it, you’re better qualified to do this,” he said. “You can see it. I can’t. Plus you’re smaller and can run faster.”

  “I can’t run faster than a horse.”

  “True. That’s definitely true.” But Wade seemed to be forming a plan. “Let’s see if we can get you a head start.”

  Before Arlo could respond, Wade ripped the plastic sheeting down. Arlo could now see directly out the open door, where the horse was still pacing, waiting for them to come out.

  But his uncle couldn’t see it. “It’s still there, right?”

  Arlo nodded.

  “Then let’s send you out the back.” Wade pulled a table away from the wall, sliding boxes to reveal the wood behind. He plugged a circular saw into a heavy orange extension cord. It whirred as the blade spun.

  “You’re going to cut a hole?”

  “A little one. You’re pretty small.” He knelt down to start cutting.

  “Won’t that mess up the wards? The ones protecting us?”

  “Huh. Maybe. Never was quite clear on how these mystical things work. Suppose you could run out the front—”

  Arlo cut him off. “It’s okay. You can do it.”

  He watched as his uncle sawed through the wall. If the wards had fallen, the horse didn’t seem to know it. The beast was still pacing back and forth on the snowy driveway.

  With two more cuts, Wade had made an opening the size of a doggie door. On the far side, the snow was deep and crusty, but sunlight was peeking through the top few inches. “This ought to work. Now, you’re going to want to run around to the back patio door because—”

  “The laundry room door is locked.”

  “Exactly. I know for a fact the sliding glass door is unlocked because I went out there this morning.” Uncle Wade never locked the house, only his workshop. “Once you’re inside, don’t stop until you’ve got the sodium chloride in hand. That’s the scientific name for salt.”

  “How do I use it?”

  “Book doesn’t say, but I suspect you can just throw it on the horse. You’ll know if it works, because if it doesn’t, you’ll be dead.”

  There was no faulting Uncle Wade’s logic, but Arlo wished he could be a little gentler in how he said things.

  Arlo got on his belly, preparing to squeeze through the hole. Worried that his parka would get caught, he took it off. Freezing was the least of his worries.

  “Think like a squirrel,” said Wade. “They just get that nut and go.”

  Squirrel, Arlo thought as he exhaled. Be a brave squirrel.

  “You want me to give you a shove?” asked Wade. Arlo nodded. That might help. “Okay. Three, two, one.”

  Uncle Wade pushed. Arlo dug with his arms, swimming through the snow. In just three seconds, he was outside in the blinding sunlight. He scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could.

  He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. The horse shrieked as it spotted him.

  Raci
ng along the back of the house, Arlo passed the laundry room. The patio was in sight. He nearly slipped as he reached the sliding glass door. He yanked the handle.

  It didn’t budge. Locked. Jaycee, he thought. She hated when Wade left things unlocked. (“Any rando could just walk in.”) She must have locked it before she went off with Benjy.

  The beast was charging straight for him. He had no choice but to run. He cut hard around the corner of the house, knowing the horse would have to circle. He could hear the hoofbeats. It was close.

  Rounding the next corner, he was at the front of the house. The porch was just ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the horse gaining on him. Arlo raced up the steps, through the busted-down front door.

  Hooves on wood. Another shriek. Arlo could feel the creature’s breath. It was right behind him.

  He cut right, dashing through the dining room for the kitchen door. The horse was slower inside. Clumsy. Its size worked against it.

  Arlo made it into the kitchen. He knew what he was looking for: a blue paper canister with a metal tab. Wade had said the salt was by the stove. But there was nothing like that there.

  He whirled around, checking the countertops. Just then, the horse crashed through the swinging door. Arlo backed away. There was still the bathroom. Maybe he could squeeze out through the window.

  Then he saw it: the salt shaker. It was on the kitchen table, next to the pepper. It wasn’t the canister he’d been searching for, but at least it was salt. It might be enough.

  Unfortunately, there was a monster in his way. The giant creature was squeezing through the door.

  What would a squirrel do? Arlo thought. They were always facing bigger predators. Most times, they ran away. But what did they do when they were cornered?

  They used their size to their advantage.

  The horse was now all the way in the kitchen. As its mouth flared open to bite, Arlo saw his chance. He dove between its legs, scampering underneath the kitchen table. Its rear hooves nearly smashed his hand.

  The beast reared around, crashing into the chairs. The table shook. Arlo saw the pepper shaker fall and smash open on the floor. But the salt shaker was still up there.

  Reaching blindly, Arlo searched the tabletop. He passed over the napkins and the sugar bowl. The table shook again as the horse turned. Suddenly, Arlo felt it: a glass rectangle with a metal top. He grabbed it and pulled it down.

  The salt shaker. Arlo smiled with relief.

  The monster leaned down on its haunches, trying to get to its prey. Slime dripped from its jagged teeth.

  Arlo scrambled back for the door, heading into the dining room. He sprinted out the front, twisting the cap off the salt shaker.

  He jumped the front steps, racing across the snow. Uncle Wade was standing in the driveway, carrying the shovel like a club. “Did you get it?!”

  “I got it!” Arlo stopped and spun around to look back at the house. The horse was charging out the front door, leaping from the porch.

  Arlo poured the salt into his hand and dropped the shaker. He had to wait until the beast was close enough. Too soon and the salt wouldn’t hit it.

  The monster lowered its horns as it charged. It was going to ram him.

  Arlo felt his heart in his throat. Some of the salt was slipping between his fingers. Did he even have enough?

  The horse was forty feet away. Thirty.

  Arlo stood his ground, defiant.

  Twenty feet. Ten.

  Arlo threw the salt. It fanned in the air like playground sand.

  The creature leaped. It looked like a fist trying to smash him.

  Arlo didn’t flinch.

  The beast hit the salt spray and exploded in a thunderclap of smoke. After the boom came a pop and a crackle. For a few moments, the inky vapors hung in the air, still holding the shape of a horse. Then they settled, falling as black ash on the white snow.

  The beast had been dispelled.

  His ears still ringing, Arlo looked over to his uncle.

  “Heck yeah, I saw it,” shouted Wade. “Flash! Boom! That was awesome.”

  22

  REPAIRS

  UNCLE WADE LEANED ON HIS SHOVEL. “We should probably try to get stuff cleaned up before your mom and sister get back.”

  Arlo agreed.

  The biggest concern was the front door, which lay flat in the entry, ripped from its hinges. His uncle used a tube of epoxy to glue the frame back together. It smelled like melting plastic and vinegar potato chips. Arlo helped him hoist the door back into place, tapping the pins in with a hammer.

  While his uncle worked on reattaching the lock, Arlo traced the beast’s path through the house.

  Each step had left a hoofprint of cinders and ash. The wooden steps were easily swept, but the shag carpet upstairs required the ancient vacuum cleaner. He ran it back and forth, never sure if it was actually picking the soot up or just grinding it in. Either way, the carpet eventually returned to an even color.

  The kitchen was easily tidied. To repair the pepper shaker, Wade provided a different glue, one he assured Arlo wasn’t poisonous. You had to really look to see the crack.

  The hallway light fixture was hopelessly broken, however. They swapped it out for one in the linen closet. It didn’t look anything like the original, but Wade said that didn’t matter. “No one goes around looking for what’s different. They’re too wrapped up in their own business.”

  Arlo soon learned he was right. When Jaycee got home, she went straight to her room without commenting on the hall light, or the dirty carpet, or the faint dents in the front door. As long as it didn’t mess with her routine, the house could be on fire for all she cared.

  As his uncle finished a few last tweaks on the front doorknob, Arlo spotted the headlights of his mother’s car turning onto the driveway.

  “What do we do if another monster shows up?” he asked.

  Wade snapped his toolbox shut. “I’ve got a buddy who can put some wards on the house proper. But I figure you ought to keep that salt shaker handy, just in case.”

  Arlo’s mom parked and switched off the ignition. Uncle Wade headed back to his workshop. At that moment, Arlo realized how few words he had actually heard his mother and uncle exchange. They were less like siblings and more like reluctant roommates. They stayed out of each other’s way.

  As his mom headed up the front path, she paused. She looked over at Arlo. “Something you want to tell me?”

  What was it? What did she know?

  She pointed over to Arlo’s escape rope, still dangling from his window. In all the tidying up, he had forgotten to put it away.

  “I was practicing my knots.” That wasn’t technically a lie. Those two half hitches had saved his life.

  His mom shook her head, more tired than angry. “Just please be careful. That’s a big drop. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Arlo nodded. “What else did you do today?”

  He thought back, suddenly realizing how eventful the day had been even before the monster tried to kill him. “I figured out how to use the Ranger’s compass. It’s really hard, but I think I understand it now.”

  * * *

  As he was closing his curtains before bed, Arlo thought he saw movement down by the road.

  His first instinct was to find Uncle Wade, but then he remembered hearing the truck driving away after dinner. Wade had presumably gone to see his friend about installing new wards on the house.

  That meant if something was out there, Arlo would need to investigate it himself. He grabbed his flashlight and salt shaker—he’d discovered a spare in one of the kitchen cabinets—and slipped quietly downstairs.

  He was already in his pajamas, so he put on his boots and his parka. The front door opened silently. If anything, it worked better than before.

  The snow crunched under his feet. The night was much colder than the afternoon. The wind made his ears ache. He should have worn his hat.

  Arlo swept the flashlight across the shadows. Nothin
g but trees.

  He made it all the way down to the road. Whatever he’d seen was gone. Or, more likely, was all in his imagination.

  Just as he turned back to the house, he saw it. A shape rushed at him, low to the ground. The light passed right through it.

  It was Cooper.

  The ghostly dog limped a bit as he walked, but seemed otherwise unhurt. He was as undead as ever. Arlo held out his hand, but Cooper ignored it. He was back to his normal, endless routine.

  Arlo smiled. “Good boy.”

  23

  THE BONFIRE

  FOR THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, nothing attempted to kill Arlo Finch. Which was frustrating, because he was really prepared.

  Over Christmas break, he had made a list of sixteen creatures in Culman’s Bestiary that could be dispelled with the salt he always kept in his pocket. He had attached a carabiner to his escape rope, bringing his window exit time down by seven seconds. He had even started doing push-ups every night in case it came down to a hand-to-hand struggle.

  Instead, his closest brush with death came from a post-holiday cold that was passed around the sixth grade like the class guinea pig on weekends. He only missed one day of school, and no exams. His fever barely broke a hundred degrees.

  Arlo would never admit it, but he was growing a little disappointed in whatever forces had conspired to kill him. He could see it in his friends’ faces, too. Every morning, they were happy to see him, but also a little surprised. “Nothing?” asked Wu.

  “I nearly got hit by a car, but it was mostly my fault. I wasn’t looking.”

  Indra tried to remain optimistic. “Accidents are the most common cause of death for young people. Maybe they’re trying to make it look ordinary.”

  “It was Mrs. Mayes just now in the parking lot. If they wanted my teacher to kill me, they’d have her assign another research paper on the Fertile Crescent.”

  But on the third Friday in January, Arlo suspected that this might finally be the day.

  It was the weekend of the Alpine Derby, the only campout of the year that spanned both Friday and Saturday nights. Since they were going straight from class to the mountains, they’d worn their uniforms to school. Indra and Wu endured endless questions from Merilee Myers about each of their patches and the significance of their pentagonal shape. “Sometimes I dream about the number five,” she said. “And when I wake up, my goldfish is staring at me.”