The Devouring

by Simon Holt

  “Reggie!” Henry hollered from the hall. “It’s Dad! He wants to talk to you!”

  “Tell him I’ll call him back!”

  Reggie cringed as the soap foamed over the hamster’s dead, open eyes. Strange, she thought, how when the essence of even the smallest living thing vanishes, the world feels colder and bigger. She wiped its black eyes with her pinky.

  “Now, he said! He wants to know you’re in the house ’cause you’re grounded!”

  “God, Henry! I’m in the bathroom!”

  She shut the water off and blotted General Squeak with a washcloth. She wrapped the little corpse with it and stood in the middle of the tiled floor, unsure what to do next. Henry’s footsteps came closer.

  “What are you doing in there?”

  “Parasailing, Henry!” she shouted angrily, kicking the door completely shut. “What do you think I’m doing in here?”

  “General Squeak got out of his cage. Have you seen him?”

  “No.” It stunned her that her first impulse was to lie. She heard Henry start back toward his room. “Henry, wait.”

  She opened the bathroom door and stepped out, cradling the wrapped towel to her chest. Henry stood in his oversized flannel pajamas, looking every bit like the boy she knew and loved.

  “What? What am I waiting for?”

  “Something happened to the General. Something bad.” Reggie unwrapped the outer flap of the towel. “I think he’s dead, Henry.”

  “Like Mrs. Boswell?”

  Reggie chilled. He hadn’t mentioned the babysitter since they’d found her body. She had naively hoped that he’d somehow forgotten the ambulance pulling up, the black-jacketed coroner’s knock on the door, the woman’s corpse being wheeled away. But he knew what had happened.

  “Mrs. Boswell died because she was old and it was, well, her time, I guess. But General Squeak…” She squatted to show Henry the tiny corpse. “I think he climbed up on the sink. Dad must have left water in there after he shaved this morning. He drowned. I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t bear to tell Henry the even more horrible truth.

  The boy’s mouth opened a little as he leaned toward the dead hamster, his eyes wide.

  “Do you think they suffered?”

  Reggie had not expected that question and she heard herself swallow, remembering the awful crackling of bone when she’d pulled General Squeak from the toilet, and the mask of horror that had frozen on Mrs. Boswell’s lifeless face.

  “I don’t think so,” Reggie lied.

  Henry reached out a hand and stroked the hamster’s head with an index finger. “He looks so broken. All twisted up.”

  Reggie bleated. She wasn’t prepared for it and the sound came out like a gag. And then she started crying and she couldn’t stop. She knelt there in the hallway, a dead rodent on a washcloth in her hands like some bizarre sacrifice.

  “You’re crying.”

  Reggie looked up at her brother. He tilted his head slightly, and his blue eyes stared at her, cool and curious. He touched a tear on her cheek, dabbing it softly so that it pooled on his fingertip. He examined it like there was something alien about it, like it required study and dissection.

  “Of course I’m crying. First Mrs. Boswell, and now this? Aren’t you sad, Henry? Don’t you want to hold him?” She held the hamster out. “Say goodbye?”

  “I don’t know what to say or what to do with it,” Henry said flatly. “Now that it’s dead.” His lip quivered, the first sign that he was feeling something. Reggie didn’t press.

  “Well, we need to find him a nice coffin.” She wiped away the streams of snot that had bubbled out of her nose. “Something warm. Make him cozy inside. And then take him outside and bury him. Say a prayer and let his spirit go.”

  Henry looked intrigued. He placed his hand on General Squeak’s body. His finger squished into the corpse, and the furry skin gave like a sponge.

  “Where does it go?” he asked matter-of-factly. “The spirit?”

  “To heaven, Henry.”

  “Have you seen a spirit?”

  “You can’t see it. You feel it. Inside you.” She pointed to Henry’s chest. “In your heart. It’s what makes you who you are.”

  The boy stood still for a long moment and then turned away. “I’m going to get a shoebox. You can bury it after I have waffles.”

  “He didn’t want to come out with you to bury it?” Aaron climbed off the rusty twelve-speed he’d owned since the seventh grade and joined Reggie, who was tromping through the unbroken snow of the side yard, carrying the shoebox coffin and a shovel. “That’s harsh. Is he messed up bad, Reg?”

  “Well, I broke some ribs pulling him out of the toilet, but he was dead by then.”

  “No, not the hamster, dork. Henry. How’s his head?”

  Reggie’s boots cracked the thin crust of ice and sank deep into the powder beneath. Aaron clomped awkwardly beside her.

  “Bad,” said Reggie. “He’s so mixed up, Aaron. Like he needs to act all tough and hard now. He didn’t even cry when he saw Squeak was dead.”

  “I didn’t cry when my cat got hit by a car.” It was true, but he’d wanted to. “I was about Henry’s age, but then again —”

  “You’re a natural tough guy.”

  Aaron smirked. “Yeah, well, you know me. Maybe I could talk to Henry. Guy to guy. Sounds lame, I know —”

  “Would you do that?”

  “Sure.” Aaron took the shovel from Reggie as they trekked through the backyard. “Here, let me do the honors.”

  He cleared some snow away and then stabbed the shovel into the icy ground. It was like digging into clay bricks. He didn’t know if they could even get deep enough to cover the shoebox, but he didn’t want to tell Reggie that. She seemed pretty set on the hamster’s funeral plans.

  “Is it totally frozen?” she asked.

  “Well, let’s just say this is going to take a while.”

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed a shape in one of her house’s windows. Henry stood in his second-floor bedroom, still as an ice sculpture, staring at them through a pane of cracked glass.

  “Hey, Reggie? That creep you out a little?”

  Reggie followed Aaron’s gaze.

  “I told you.” She sighed. “He’s acting weird. Like some gears aren’t matching up right in there.”

  “Let me see the hamster.”

  “What for?”

  Aaron grabbed the box from Reggie’s hands and opened it. He lifted the hamster out of its cardboard coffin and turned it over, hoping his suspicions were wrong.

  “And you found it in the toilet?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Clogged it. Really jammed in.”

  “Its neck’s broken.” Aaron lifted the creature’s head, examining how ruined the pathetic thing really was.

  “Yeah. I told you, I broke a couple bones when I pulled it out, because —”

  “I don’t think that’s how it happened. Look.” He pointed to the thin layer of skin that seemed to be the only thing keeping the head attached. “Somebody, well —”

  Aaron glanced back up at the window. Henry was no longer there.

  “What are you doing here, Aaron?”

  Henry had appeared on the back deck. Bound up in several layers of sweatshirts and then wrapped in Dad’s green down parka, he looked like a lumpy zucchini. Aaron would have laughed if it weren’t for the venom in the boy’s voice.

  “I came to pay my respects to General Squeak, Henry.” Aaron took the box from Reggie’s hands and laid the hamster back inside. He closed the lid and gave it back to her, not taking his eyes off of Henry. “I’m really sorry about what happened, man. You okay?”

  “Reggie’s grounded. You better go home before my dad calls.” Henry pulled the parka collar tight around his neck as he turned to go indoors. “He doesn’t like you much.”

  “Henry,” Reggie snapped. “Back off! He’s burying your pet.”

  Aaron held a finger up to silence Reggie. He walked after Henry
.

  “Hey.”

  Henry didn’t stop.

  “Hey, Henry, wait. Come on, bud, wait up a minute.”

  The boy faced him with flaring eyes. “I’m going inside. It’s cold out here.”

  Aaron squinted up at the bright sun. “Not so bad. A little above freezing today, eh? And you like winter, big snowboarder that you are.”

  “Yeah.” Henry just stood on the porch.

  “Can you come down here a minute? I want to talk.”

  The boy balked but said nothing.

  “Just for a minute. Please?”

  Henry teetered down the deck steps. He stared at Aaron ex-pectantly.

  “Reggie’s worried about you, Henry. Are you doing all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Henry shook his head. “Can I go now?” He started back up the steps, but Aaron reached out and grabbed his wrist.

  “Come on. Just talk a sec. Did you have an accident with General Squeak?”

  “Let go of me.” The command was calm and threatening. Henry’s eyes locked with Aaron’s, and the older boy felt a cold force closing in on him. Something inhuman lurked behind Henry’s stare, and it held Aaron firmly in its grip.

  Aaron struggled to look away, but he couldn’t. Drowning in the child’s blue gaze, his body wouldn’t answer his mind. He was underwater, paralyzed and suffocating. Sunlight faded; a tunnel closed in until there was blackness on all sides. His lungs burned. Henry’s image rippled before him. Aaron couldn’t breathe. The water rushed into his chest…

  He coughed and gagged. There was no water, only the cold blue depths of Henry’s eyes. Henry cracked a smile as Aaron fell to his knees in the snow, gasping for breath.

  “Go home, Aaron. You’re not welcome here.”

  Henry laughed bitterly and walked away.

  Aaron caught his breath. His pulse pounded with rage and fear. He snatched up a hunk of hard, icy snow and hurled it at Henry. It slammed into the back of his target’s head.

  “Aaron!” Reggie yelled. “Chill out!”

  Henry yelped and twisted. He growled and leapt at Aaron, knocking him on his back. His hands curled around Aaron’s throat, and then the drowning sensation struck again, full force.

  “Henry — stop!” Reggie screamed.

  Aaron kicked and writhed, his lungs afire. Reggie grabbed Henry’s shoulders, trying to pry him off.

  “Henry! Leave him alone! STOP IT!”

  Henry flailed, smacking the point of his elbow into Reggie’s face, hitting just under her left eye. She gasped and staggered back.

  Aaron clenched a fistful of snow and mashed it into Henry’s face, making him shriek and jump away. Reggie dove to grab her brother around the waist, but he snapped forward and head-butted her in the nose. She fell to the ground like a sack of stones.

  Aaron, his vision clouded with yellow dots, tried to focus. Henry’s cheek and nose looked seared where the snow had hit him, like raw meat dropped in a hot skillet. Gray threads branched out from the blackened patches.

  “Jesus … ,” Aaron gasped.

  Henry covered his face with both hands and raced up the deck into the house.

  Reggie lay perfectly still on the snow, warm blood gushing from her nose and staining the whiteness around her.

  8

  Reggie vaguely recalled clinging to Aaron as he furiously pedaled his bike. “Reggie, can you hear me? Don’t let go!” Fogged with pain, she stayed upright and focused as best she could on her friend’s voice.

  She awoke with Eben’s frowning face above her, his gentle hand holding the ice pack to her nose. Reggie grimaced, the skin beneath her eye puffy and tender. Aaron stood behind Eben, biting his lip in worry.

  She reclined on a small Victorian fainting couch. Behind it stood a tall glass-fronted cabinet, filled with ancient-looking books. An orange cat with one pronounced fang stalked in the hall beyond. This was Eben’s apartment above the bookstore.

  “No broken bones, but you’ll have some bruises,” Eben said.

  Aaron leaned in.

  “Merry Christmas, huh?” He smiled and stroked her hair. “I didn’t think you’d want to deal with my mother asking why your nose looks like a plum, so I came here.”

  Reggie nodded. She tried to sit up, but dizziness forced her back down on the couch. Eben put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Easy does it. We don’t want the bleeding to start up again.”

  “Where’s Henry?” Reggie ran her tongue along her teeth and tasted the rusty, dried blood. Blurred images floated around in her brain. She turned to Aaron and saw the faint blue marks Henry’s little hands had left on his neck. “Oh, God. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Aaron’s hand reflexively went to his throat. He nodded. “I guess Henry’s still at home,” he said.

  “Alone?”

  “For now.”

  “I have to go. My dad —” Reggie staggered to her feet. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I left Henry home alone, especially on Christmas Eve.”

  “Sit down, Regina,” said Eben.

  Reggie sank back down on the couch.

  “Henry killed General Squeak,” said Aaron.

  “I know.” Reggie swallowed hard. Her throat burned. “I think I knew it before you did.”

  “He needs to see someone, Reggie,” Eben said. “I’m not trying to butt into your family’s life, but if he’s hurting people now…” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth. “You don’t want this to escalate.”

  “I know. He needs to see a shrink,” Reggie said.

  “Henry needs more than a shrink.” Aaron picked up a glass of water from the coffee table, and the ice cubes clinked from the shaking of his hand. “I think something happened to Henry after we read from that book the other night.”

  “The Devouring? I read him a story from it. I’ve been thinking maybe that triggered bad memories.”

  “No, Reg. Not memories.”

  “Then what?”

  “He’s different now.” Aaron looked her straight in the eyes. “I don’t think he’s your brother anymore. I don’t think he’s Henry.”

  Reggie choked out a laugh.

  “Oh, yeah? Then who is he? Elvis?”

  Aaron didn’t smile.

  “Wait. You’re seriously thinking —? That’s freaking great, Aaron. Thanks for that terrific rational approach. Now we’re really getting somewhere.”

  “I did the rational, and none of the answers make sense.”

  “Slow down,” said Eben. “Aaron, what are you saying?”

  Reggie jabbed a finger at Aaron’s chest.

  “The Devouring is just a stupid book! A fairy tale, Aaron. Words, nothing more.”

  “Words are written down for a reason. Was there a real Cyclops? No — but could there have been some big, ugly mother of a mutation with one eye? Yes.” He looked to Eben. “You’ve read every book ever written. Do you understand what I mean?”

  Eben considered Aaron’s words.

  “Are there nuggets of truth to incredible tales? Sure. But it’s quite a leap to say that just because this book exists, there are creatures from another dimension who steal children’s souls. I don’t think an inquisition is the next logical step here.”

  “Just hear me out,” said Aaron. “Henry’s a kid who freaks out easy. If Vours do exist, if they attack those most afraid on Sorry Night, Henry would be the perfect victim, right?”

  “I hate to say it, Aaron, but you weren’t exactly a portrait of courage the other night,” Reggie answered. “Why didn’t they get you?”

  “Because I wasn’t alone — and I didn’t really believe in the Vours. Think about how they came for Jeremiah in the book. Jeremiah’s sister ran away and left him all alone in the field. This was just a game to us,” Aaron said. “But to Henry, it was real.”

  “So if I go home and chant ‘Bloody Mary’ into my bedroom mirror three times I’ll have a gory corpse standing behind me, if I believe in her?” said Reggie. “Great. Maybe she and Henry
can go slaughter stray cats together.”

  “Reggie, I saw things.”

  “What things?”

  “Henry’s skin. Something happened when the snow touched it. It got … darker.”

  “Like a rash?”

  “No. Like a burn.”

  “People have reactions to extreme cold, Aaron,” said Eben. He leaned forward to scratch his cat between the ears. “It’s not uncommon.”

  “Henry’s a snow rat! Have you ever seen him have an allergic reaction to snow, or ice, or the cold? Even once?” Reggie shook her head. “Well, neither have I.”

  “You said ‘things,’” said Reggie. “What else did you see?”

  “You’re going to think I’m insane.”

  “I’m already there.”

  “When I fell on my knees? I fell because I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning.”

  “What?”

  “Henry looked in my eyes and he knew what I was afraid of. I can’t explain it, but he knew, and he made it real in my mind.”

  Eben stood up.

  “That’s enough. You’re both upset —”

  Aaron slammed his palms against the table; the sudden noise sent the cat scampering under the couch.

  “There’s something in him, damn it! I saw it!”

  “What did you see, Aaron?” asked Eben. “Describe it.”

  “We were face to face, and I saw something behind his eyes.”

  Reggie scowled.

  “Here’s what I think. You think you saw something, and I don’t blame you. He was choking you and you freaked. But fear does strange things, and the truth is, you’re scared of your own shadow.”

  Seeing the look on Aaron’s face, Reggie instantly regretted what she’d said.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes, you did, and I don’t care. I’m a coward, fine. But I’m not a fool, Reg. I know what I saw. And I’m willing to bet Mrs. Boswell saw something, too. Henry showed her something that literally scared her to death.”

  “First my brother’s a demon, and now he murders little old ladies?” Reggie stood and strode toward the doorway. “I’m leaving.”

  Aaron grabbed her arm as she passed him. “Don’t trust anything he says. Stay away from him tonight. Even if you just get spooked, call me and I’ll come over.”